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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934608">If the world was ending, you’d come over right?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseFalls03/pseuds/ParadiseFalls03'>ParadiseFalls03</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Draco intimate relationship with the word fuck, Draco is a disney princess, Fluff and Angst, Forgive Me, Grief/Mourning, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Multi, POV Alternating, Roommates, Slow Burn, but with good intentions, gratuitous disney references, guess which one, like fucking slow, new identities, rash decisions, wink wink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:27:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25934608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseFalls03/pseuds/ParadiseFalls03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As a little boy, his mother used to tell him that life was like a waterfall trying to fit inside a glass. At some point, the overflow was inevitable. </p><p>Later on, much later, he would wonder if it had been fate that led him to what was, no doubts, the rashest decision of his life. The right circumstances, that one single drop enough for the glass to spill. </p><p> </p><p>After his confrontation with Draco at the beginning of sixth year, it isn’t Tonks the one who finds a petrified Harry on the floor of the Hogwarts Express. And, now, Harry is gone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>81</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Circumstances (POV unspecified)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am rewriting this idea completely so, if it sounds familiar, it was still me! Hopefully my writing has slightly improved. I do have a beta this time ❤️</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As a little boy, his mother used to tell him that life was like a waterfall trying to fit inside a glass. At some point, the overflow was inevitable. </p><p>He was already full to the brim. </p><p>Therefore, when he stumbled across an invisible barrier, right in the middle of the worn out floor of Compartment I, it was just too much. </p><p>Later on, much later, he would wonder if it had been fate that led him to what was, no doubt, the rashest decision of his life. The right circumstances, that one single drop enough for the glass to spill. </p><p>As it was, after his feet collided with what appeared to be solid air, it had taken only a glance at the empty space in front of him to know. He had found him. </p><p>If he hadn’t been so lost in thoughts, the dark crimson stain slowly spreading across the flooring should have been a telltale sign of the other wizard’s presence. But such was that, when he rushed forward and scrambled to rip away the invisibility cloak and found himself staring into green, he was still utterly unprepared. </p><p>Sprawled across the shabby carpet of the last carriage of the Hogwarts Express, he lay motionless, but for the frantic quivering of his irises, the only indication he was still alive.<br/>
Dried blood caked his left cheek, tilted towards  the floor. A stark trail of bright red stood out against his clammy skin, starting at the tip of his nose and accumulating  in a lone bead just below his  ear. He watched as the droplet filled, following the tug of gravity towards the sticky pool that drenched the boy’s hair and the carpet. </p><p>He could recognise the plea in the boy’s eyes, the growing confusion about why he hadn’t been released from the spell yet. Despite that, he couldn’t help stalling, lost in a sea of familiar memories. He took his time cataloguing each feature, each nod to the past.<br/>
It was like coming home.<br/>
He dropped to his knees, gently supporting the lean body in his arms and just let himself look. </p><p>The unruly hair, ink against pale skin, just a hint of dotted freckles across the bridge of his broken nose. The slight asymmetry of his upper lip, fuller on the right. He was taller now, while still somewhat too skinny, his body had stretched over half a foot during summer, catching up with the distinguished height of the Potter’s lineage. He was almost a man, yet still a child. So goddamn young. Each trait a stabbing reminder of whom had once been just as young, just as lively. </p><p>But it was the eyes that did it. In Harry’s green orbs there was nothing of the carefree light that had once gleamed in sixteen years old Lily Evan’s ones.<br/>
And it felt like failure.</p><p>The unfairness of Harry’s life hit him like a bludger, the urge to protect overwhelming.<br/>
In that single moment, lain across the rundown floor of the same train that had once taken Harry to the beginning of his new life, fate offered him one simple solution.</p><p>With a quick wave of his wand he watched as abused cartilage straightened, blood and dirt vanished, leaving no traces of what had happened behind.</p><p>He was running out of time. The “Finite” falling from his lips sounded like an apology. A prayer. </p><p>Please, forgive me.</p><p>Harry blinked, his face and body relaxing. He smiled tentatively, huffing out a breath of relief.</p><p>“Hi. Thanks, I -“</p><p>He was running out of time.</p><p>Please, forgive me.</p><p>His next spell sounded nothing like redemption, yet he still hoped it would be the right choice. </p><p>“Obliviscere”. </p><p>There was no going back. </p><p>So, when a wisp of silvery smoke morphed into a phoenix, right before him, asking in Dumbledore’s grave voice, “Have you found him?”, his responding denial was resolute and confident.</p><p>Later on, much later, he would tell himself it was fate that had led him to the rashest decision of his life. Anything to quell the doubts and guilt weighing heavily in his chest. </p><p>In that moment, one glimpse at Harry, looking lost and still too addled to even notice the Patronus, was all it took.<br/>
He grabbed the younger wizard’s arm and apparated them away. </p><p>There was no going back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I came up with the spell “Obliviscere” as an alternative to “Obliviate”. I consider this spell similar to the one used to Hermione (and never stated) to plant new memories into her parents minds before sending them to Australia.</p><p>Also, I think it’s pretty clear who the POV is, and it will be revealed soon, but I just like writing with the element of doubt.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Small victories (POV Draco)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco entered the Great Hall with a sense of accomplishment and a proud stance in his stride. After a rotten summer, finally having the upper hand on Potter had lifted a little weight off his shoulders.<br/>
He flexed his right hand a couple of times, relishing in the tingling sensation still left in his knuckles, where his fist had met the firm cartilage of Potter’s nose with a satisfying crack. No doubt the Gryffindor’s nose had been broken and, for the first time in his life, he damned magic for how easily it could vanish the traces of their confrontation from the other boy’s face. There had been something deeply gratifying in the physicality of throwing a punch. The sadistic part of him wanted to see the reminder of his little victory lingering on Potter’s stupid features, for days to come. </p><p>Never mind. People talked and, without any evidence, Draco knew Potter would keep the ordeal between the two of them. For all his flaws, the Gryffindor wasn’t one to wash his dirty laundry in public and Draco begrudgingly admired him for it.</p><p>He had always craved to be seen but this year needed to be different. With the magnitude of the task he had been assigned, he knew it wouldn’t serve him well to attract attention. Nonetheless, the idea of Potter silently knowing he had been overpowered, melted some of the stress away, allowing a slow smirk to stretch his lips. He might even get to enjoy the Welcoming Feast, after all.</p><p> </p><p>He took a seat next to Greg, causing the other boy to spill half of his drink on his lap, in the haste to scoot over. Pansy casted a quick “scourgify” to vanish the orange splatters that had reached her own uniform, nose scrunching up in contempt, before fixing Draco with an inquisitive gaze. With her haughty attitude and her face pinched, an image of a small and angry dog passed fleetingly through Draco’s mind. </p><p>“What took you so long?” She demanded. </p><p>The hindrance with Potter meant Draco had to share the last remaining carriage with a group of overly excited Hufflepuffs that looked no older than 8. When they finally reached the castle, he had managed to slip away from the crowd to make sure the shrunken package, weighing heavily in his pocket, had reached the safety of the dungeons, causing him to miss the entirety of the Sorting Ceremony. He wasn’t about to tell Pansy any of that. </p><p>“I left something behind,” he shrugged dismissively, and began perusing the selection of food set before him.</p><p>He was just about to spear a roasted potato when his eye’s met Theo’s narrowed ones.<br/>
He lifted an eyebrow in silent enquiry, challenging the other boy to comment.</p><p>“Well, it seems you weren’t the only one, since Potter has yet to make an appearance.” Theo sounded almost angry and the vindictive voice in Draco’s head wanted to retort that he was indeed having a secret affair with his sworn enemy. </p><p>“I don’t keep tabs on Potter’s whereabouts. Something you don’t seem to have qualms about, Theo” he said, instead. Both Vince and Blaise sniggered at that, although it felt to Draco as for two completely different reasons. </p><p>Theo rolled his eyes but diverted his attention back to his chicken, leaving Draco to feel twice victorious. </p><p>With the progression of dinner, though, the lack of Potter started to be noticed, all around the Hall. By the end of the night his initial gratification had been replaced by unease. Draco, who had indulged in what he thought was a well deserved second dessert, felt a wave of the ever present nausea that had been plaguing him all summer, return at full force. Almost compelled to ditch them and face the consequences, he scrambled through his prefect duties in a haste, only barely gloating at Weasley and Granger’s distress.</p><p>He was about to make his tactical retreat to bed when he felt a looming presence behind him. Huffing, he tossed his toothbrush back in his toiletry bag and pulled on a soft grey t-shirt, leaving the bathroom knowing he was being followed. Only after they were shielded by the curtains of his four-posters the other boy spoke. </p><p>“You know something,” Theo accused.</p><p>“For the sake of comprehension, the English language requires you to state the subject of your affirmations, or you might be misinterpreted,” Draco drawled, enjoying the flare of anger in the other wizard’s blue eyes. </p><p>“Oh, sod off Draco. You know what!”<br/>
Theo hissed feverishly. There was fear behind the anger and, for a moment, Draco was taken aback. </p><p>“I do not, care to enlighten me? I am sure you don’t mind”. He feigned innocence, looking for an outlet for his own increasing ire.</p><p>Theo didn’t disappoint. “You are getting mixed up in things way bigger than you.” He glanced around the room to make sure the other boys were paying them no attention and casted a muffilato, before digging his index finger painfully into Draco’s ribs “Somehow, I think you don’t fully understand what you have gotten yourself into.”</p><p>“I don’t see how what I do is any of your business, Theo.”</p><p>“Merlin, Draco. It’s not too late! Stop before you are in too deep!“ His eyes were pointedly fixed on Draco’s  pale, unblemished forearms. </p><p>Draco cut him off, venom dripping from every word “You have no idea. . . NO idea, Theo, of what the fuck you are talking about. So, save your precious pity talk for someone that actually needs it!”</p><p>“Where is Potter?”</p><p>A small part of Draco still wanted to say something crass, if only to see if there was any jealousy left in the other wizard, but his stomach twitched in discomfort. “In a ditch” he spat, finally.</p><p>They stared at each other for a tense moment, chests heaving.<br/>
He watched as Theo’s hands clenched into fists. “Fuck you, Malfoy.”</p><p>“As I recall, you were often the one-“ Draco started, preparing himself for the resulting punch, but something in the other boy’s face left the words dying on his lips. </p><p>He looked drained, sad and utterly disappointed. “No - Don’t. Just... Don’t.”</p><p>It took long after Theo left for his own bed for Draco to finally fall into a fitful sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’ll try to keep the notes short, so to spare you all my ramblings. As probably everybody else, I do enjoy to hear your opinions, so feel free to tell me whatever is on your mind 😊 thanks for reading</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Identities (POV unspecified)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was older now, his mother long gone.</p><p>So long, in fact, that he couldn’t really recall the exact shade of her eyes or whether her smile had really been as bright as he remembered. So long that, sometimes, he found himself frantically rummaging about in his drawers just to look at her one more time. He would stare at her pictures, drinking in all the details that, later, were inevitably bound to fade in the void of his memory, like leaves in the current. </p><p>But her voice, her voice he never forgot.<br/>
He still remembered the ghost of pale fingers across his forehead. A gentle, cooling pressure against his clammy skin, whilst his young body had shaken in the aftermath of yet another night of horror. He still remembered her words, lulling, reassuring. </p><p>You’ll survive this. </p><p>You’ll come out stronger.</p><p>She had told him not to discredit the importance of painful experiences, for it was the bumps in the road that made the journey memorable.</p><p>Looking back, he knew his mother had needed the reassurance as much as he did, helpless against a situation out of her control. She had been chasing a flame of hope in the insurmountable darkness of her son’s affliction, trying to find a positive in a pain that she could not make her own.</p><p>As an adolescent, he had clung onto her words, wanting to believe with his whole heart that he could turn his pain into growth and still enjoy his life. </p><p>But, looking at Harry munching on a piece of buttered toast with the carefree countenance of a young man that had no worries for the future, he had never wished more for his own chance at a smooth ride. </p><p>“So,” he asked cautiously, “you are looking for a way out of your current living arrangements, am I correct?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I’ve come of age now-“ the boy paused, his expressive green eyes going slightly out of focus as if trying to place an event he couldn’t quite recall.<br/>
“My family, I mean, the Dursleys, well. . . They were never my home, really.” </p><p>“Mhm, I understand.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully, cringing at the feeling of the days old stubble peppering his skin in patches. Ironically, he could never grow a proper beard. “And I think I can help”.</p><p>Harry had been asleep for three days, his mind slowly adjusting around the new memories.<br/>
There was not much time, having to deal with the news of the missing boy spreading across the Wizarding Community like fiendfyre and with the bureaucratic nightmare that was forging someone’s new identity, but he was a skilled wizard and he had made it count.</p><p>He and Harry had been staying at his grandparents’ old place in Cardiff, a quaint two bedroom that was the only remaining link to his Muggle heritage. For once, Wizards’ complete disinterest for all things Muggle had played in his favour and he was certain that no one, or at least no one alive, knew about his property.<br/>
And, mostly, it had been of little use over the years, almost forgotten. A few hasty cleaning spells had done nothing against the stench of disuse and many surfaces were still covered in a thin layer of dust, both indicative signs of neglect.</p><p>Harry paid it no mind though, his eyes peering at his surroundings with indolent curiosity. Most of his focus was on the generous breakfast laid in front of him, cheeks plumping whilst his jaw worked through three days worth of starvation.</p><p>The house itself was nothing special. Most importantly, there were no traces of magic at number 34 Compton Street and, as things were, it was the perfect residence for a young middle class teacher. Nothing out of the ordinary in Harry’s eyes, who now believed himself to be in the presence of his ex history professor and counsellor at Stonewall High Secondary, met by chance when on the run from his appalling relatives. </p><p>Because this Harry, this new Harry, wasn’t even Harry at all. </p><p>More than the faces of his friends, more than the real and good memories of Hogwarts, more than magic itself, it was stripping Harry of his own name, his identity, that had made his guts twist with guilt. </p><p>He couldn’t risk it, though.<br/>
Even the smallest chance of recognition, even the tiniest possibility of Harry reacting to his name being called, was too dangerous. The only way for the boy to disappear and finally have his shot at normality was to cut every single tie to the past.</p><p>Evan James was a common name, common enough that no one was going to look at the boy twice. By Merlin’s beard, he could bet there were bound to be at least a couple of Evan James wandering the streets of Cardiff right at that very moment.<br/>
The small homage to Harry’s parents felt flat when compared to the enormity of what he was doing, yet the insistent voice in his mind commanding his actions kept reminding him that no magic had been able to save James and Lily Potter. </p><p>And Harry was just a child, with the same threat that had taken his family away 15 years before, looming over his shoulders.</p><p>Magic couldn’t protect James and Lily, and he owed it to them to give their son his best chance.</p><p>So, he had sold his grandfather’s vintage car, almost legally, with just a little push of magic to help move the transaction along.<br/>
It was a sleek, deep burgundy Jaguar dated from the late fifties and, as little as he knew about cars, it had been his grandfather's pride and joy when he was alive.  It was a little precious memory from his youth that he had never had the heart to part from. But, a sports car that beautiful was of no use rotting in a garage and, with only a smidge of regret, he had handed the keys over to the new owner, telling himself that it was what his old man would have wanted. He didn’t have a driving licence, anyway.</p><p>The money was good. More than enough to buy Harry a complete wardrobe and a new pair of glasses with a thick, square frame. They sat differently across his slender face, accentuating all the right angles of his cheekbones and altering his features slightly, so that he was still recognisable but, at the same time not quite himself.</p><p>The money was even enough to open a small bank account in Evan’s name, something to keep him going for a while. He had no doubts Harry would find a way to sustain himself; a lot of muggle kids travelled around the world for work experience, these days. In Evan’s mind, the account was a little inheritance left by his parents, to access when he came of age.</p><p>The decision to change Harry’s birth year to 1978 had been a necessity, and it helped that the boy had grown a lot during summer. He could easily pass for a fresh-faced 18 year old.</p><p>Obtaining the documents, though, had been a completely different matter, and the amount of laws and ISWS (International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy) regulations he had broken would probably land him in Azkaban, if he was to be caught. All in all, he found that the prospect didn’t scare him as much as it should. </p><p>He fished Evan’s passport out of his pocket, running his thumb along the edge a few times before pushing it towards the boy.<br/>
“I made a few copies of that. I can talk to the embassy, find out the quickest  way about getting a visa.”</p><p>Harry nodded around a mouth full of grapes, “Thanks, I mean it. I honestly have no idea where to start. I feel a little foolish, really, but. . . I don’t know. It has been my dream for a while.”</p><p>Evan James really wanted to move to California. Far, far away, in one of the least prolific magical areas in an English speaking country, where Harry Potter was really a nobody. Unbeknownst to Harry, all the documents necessary, paired with a one way ticket to San Diego International Airport, were upstairs, safely tucked in the left drawer beside the master bed. He had even gone as far as putting a tricky spell on the papers, assuring that any muggle coming across them would feel gently compelled to accept their validity. Another possible one way ticket to Azkaban on his already impressive list. </p><p>“Nonsense. I am sure the travel agency will help and you’ll be all set to go within a week.” He smiled, forcing the weight of the lies to drop back into his stomach. </p><p>“That would be awesome. I don’t know how to thank you enough!”</p><p>“You know, I knew your parents. We went to-“</p><p>“Boarding school together!” Harry finished for him. “Yeah, I remember. Although, I cannot imagine them in a boarding school. I mean, Aunt Petunia, for all she acts high and mighty, she is quite middle class really. I guess it does explain why she would hate her sister so much, but. . . boarding school, sounds fancy. I guess I don’t really know much about my parents”.</p><p>“It was truly a lovely place” he replied, willing his smile not to slip at yet another jab at his conscience, “but, H-Evan, all your parents ever wanted, in spite of fancy boarding schools and expensive things, was for you to be happy.” </p><p>Harry’s eyes were a little glossy when he raised his glass of orange juice in a mock toast. “To new chances, I suppose.”</p><p>“To happiness!”</p><p>Glass hit glass with a clink. </p><p>Maybe it would all end in disaster. Maybe he would never see Harry again, and the loss was already unbearable. Maybe he was a foolish man. </p><p>But, despite knowing that his own life was only going to get harder, a part of him still carried the little hope of his mother’s words that, for Harry, everything was gonna turn out ok.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My stupid self is still trying to act all mysterious around the second POV, although at this point it’s super obvious. But, well, tell that to my writing mode brain.</p><p> </p><p>Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter and any thoughts are always welcome 😊</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Confrontations (Draco’s POV)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fucking Potter. One would think the obnoxious prat was the backbone of the entire Wizarding World. Like they hadn’t survived well enough for the 11 or so years their precious hero had been hiding Merlin knows where. </p><p>In Draco’s unbiased opinion, they had been doing just fine. Best 11 years of his life.</p><p>After two weeks without a sighting of that ridiculous bird’s nest and the body attached to it, it seemed like the world had tilted on its axis, spiralling into a reality that tried to be the same but didn’t quite manage so.</p><p>Sure, there was an overall pretence of normality. Classes were scheduled as per usual, Gryffindors were a bunch of idiots, as per usual. Hogwarts was a joke. As. Per. Usual. </p><p>The air, though, was charged with unease. Even with the extent of magic, people did not simply disappear. If Git McNobody, second year Ravenclaw and best friend of “Hogwarts, A History”, had suddenly stopped showing up, the whole ordeal would have probably gone unnoticed to all but Madam Pince. </p><p>But, Potter was a constant in the peripheral vision of every single person in the whole damned school, whether willing or not.<br/>
Surprisingly, it had taken a couple of days for the blast to blow at full power. Despite Potter’s habitual courtesy of keeping his delusions of grandeur and heroic gestures until the end of the school year, people had assumed The Boy Who Lived was simply out there, slaying some beast. </p><p>A standard fucking Tuesday.</p><p>On the third day, the signs of distress now evident even in between the highest ranks, had made it clear that there was nothing standard going on. </p><p>Two weeks into the school year and even Longbottom could tell you that, based on the worry lines and perpetual frown on the headmaster’s tired face, Dumbledore himself had no sodding clue of Potter’s whereabouts.</p><p>And, as Draco could testify from his favourable position dead centre in this ever so amusing game of piggy in the middle, neither did the Dark Lord.</p><p>Potter was gone. Missing. Vanished. A. W. O. L.</p><p>And people were scared.</p><p>Draco wasn’t scared. Draco was pissed. And, possibly, a tad guilty.</p><p>He sank deeper into the velvety armchair at the far right corner of the Slytherin common room, away from the crowd of students most likely speculating about Potter. For some reason, this particular armchair had ended up in front of a window, which meant an unappealing view of the murky lake water. Draco watched as some bubbles raised from the bottom, popping mid way and releasing a green substance vaguely similar to bobotuber pus. He wrinkled his nose, focusing on the repetitive motion of the bubbles and willing his mind to clear and relax. </p><p>He was possibly the last one to have seen Potter alive. </p><p>He had left Potter with a broken nose, hidden under what appeared to have been a surprisingly powerful invisibility cloak. </p><p>Probably choking on his own blood.</p><p>When a sharp pain brought his focus back to his own mangled finger, he admitted that he was far from  relaxed, his nerves  coiled tightly as a spring.<br/>
Chewing on the tender skin between his fingers and nails until raw was a habit he had developed during summer and one his mother would have been appalled at, had she not been absorbed in other matters, like his impending death sentence. </p><p>Malfoys didn’t have nervous ticks.<br/>
He had noticed Potter’s maimed fingernails enough times to know his perfectly kept manicure was the sign of a completely different upbringing.</p><p>He felt suddenly antsy, his breathing getting shallow and constricted. The air in the dungeons was heavy, sweat and must filling his lungs like poison. </p><p>He could sense Theo’s stare boring into his skull and that was all it took for his feet to start moving.</p><p>And then he was running, one step after the other.</p><p>He barely registered crashing into another body on the stairs. Professor Lupin’s presence was of no surprise, the entire school was swarming with Aurors and Friends of the Potter Club. The werewolf looked beyond his age, eyes wide and circled in black, and possibly as out of it as Draco himself felt. </p><p>With his mind still spinning, he wasn’t sure either of them even acknowledged the collision.</p><p>It was only when he had reached the corridor to the main exit that he let himself slowly come to a halt.<br/>
He rested his hands on his thighs, chest heaving with the intensity of his breaths. </p><p>As the two inconvenient nuisances they so insisted on being, it was only natural that Potter’s sidekicks chose that exact moment to cross paths with him.</p><p>He had seen it coming. To be honest with himself, he had expected it much sooner.</p><p>If it wasn’t for the lack of evidence of misconduct, he would have bet on being dragged into an interrogation as a prime suspect. Even Snape eyed him suspiciously these days. It was almost flattering.</p><p>Granger and her freckly boyfriend looked like they hadn’t slept in months. Her red-rimmed eyes still glistened with tears and Draco spared Weasley a look of contempt when the ginger sniffed loudly.</p><p>“Malfoy,” Granger’s voice was a sharp blade. </p><p>“To what do I owe the displeasure?”</p><p>“You know something.” Straight to the point. </p><p>“As a matter of fact, I am indeed quite knowledgeable,” Draco replied, keeping his tone on the edge of bored. </p><p>“Cut the crap, ferret!” There was a hint of craze in Weasley’s blue eyes and Draco took an involuntary step back. “Where. Is. Harry?”</p><p>His eyes darted to Granger’s clenched fists. The ghost of pain from her knuckles on the delicate skin of his cheek sent a red alarm to his brain, almost enough to have him backtrack on his current plan of fucking with them. </p><p>Almost.</p><p>“I knocked him up. Turned out he had all the right bits going on down there. With a dainty jaw like that I should have suspected he was hiding a pair of tits. So much for the boy who lived!” </p><p>Granger stared at him with a mix of fascinated incredulity and disgust that kept him going. “He was really ashamed, you know with me being this evil overlord and everything his poor Gryffindork heart stood against. He is probably giving birth in a ditch.”</p><p>“What the actual fuck. You are insane, Malfoy!”</p><p>The Weasel’s nostrils flared threateningly. Draco shrugged, “He wasn’t even a good lay.”</p><p>They stared at each other, eyes locked, both factions waiting for the other to break contact. Finally, Granger stomped her feet in frustration but grabbed the other’s arm and led him away, mumbling about unworthiness. </p><p>Draco’s mouth curved in a slight, victorious smirk. </p><p>“You know, you keep doing that.”<br/>
Blaise stood against the wall, one eyebrow raised in amusement. </p><p>“And what is that, exactly?” Draco believed his given supply of energy designated to deal with this shit was getting perilously low. </p><p>“Alluding at something crass happening during your and Potter’s rendezvous.”<br/>
Fuck. You. Blaise. </p><p>“Well, however low your opinion of me might have gotten in the last year, I haven’t actually killed the prat.”</p><p>“I never said you did.” The other boy’s smirk could rival his own.</p><p>If only I could convince myself of that, was Draco's last bitter thought. </p><p>Doing his damndest to ignore Blaise’s knowing looks, he quickly turned away, making his way back to Slytherin. He was gonna go find a bed and hopefully wake up 6 years in the past when Harry Fucking Potter was none of his concern.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Draco channels my inner bitch. As per usual, your opinions are more than welcomed 🙃</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Departures (POV unspecified)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ride to the airport was mostly silent.</p><p>Harry slumped gracelessly in his seat, all teenage lankiness in a twisted slouch that would have left an older body aching for days.<br/>
From the tiny slit atop his window, his fingers danced loosely in the wind, until the cab caught speed and the air became too frigid. </p><p>The driver made half-arsed attempts at conversation, but they all fell short.<br/>
“Goodbyes can’t always find the words, I suppose” he grunted, almost to himself, and let them be. </p><p>It was surprisingly insightful and, at the same time, it left no doubts about what this really was. A goodbye.<br/>
A goodbye loaded with deceit and too many unknown variables that could all go to shit. </p><p>Harry looked like a child with his forehead pressed against the window and his fingers idly tracing the path of raindrops running down the glass.</p><p>Despite the pillow lines etched onto his face and the drowsiness from the early start, Harry had woken buzzing with energy. Breakfast had been filled with nonsensical blabbering and growing bucket lists of things that simply needed to be done. </p><p>“Do you think I will see the dolphins?”, breakfast Harry had asked, eyes wide in wonder, before gleefully shrieking at the endless possibilities of the ocean. </p><p>It had passed in a whirlwind of emotions and words that made the contrast with the silence in the cab even the more poignant. </p><p>He observed the boy’s profile against the glass, haloed in the soft light of rain mixed with speed, and tried to catch any sign of nervousness. Any indication that maybe this wasn’t the right decision after all. That, maybe, he should call this insane plan off and just take Harry back to where he belonged.<br/>
He watched closely, not sure if hoping or dreading for a trace of uncertainty, something that could excuse his sudden need to keep Harry close and damned the consequences.</p><p>Harry didn’t seem distressed, thought. Eyes lost to the blur of 9 am traffic, he appeared merely deep in thoughts. There was a soft smile parting the boy’s lips and that was enough to strengthen his resolve.<br/>
Harry looked calmly happy, in a way he hadn’t since before that blasted tournament in fourth year. </p><p>Deep in his heart sat the knowledge that he wasn’t likely to survive the war. It was more resigned acceptance than a feeling. He was the last man standing of a group that did everything together, and his death seemed the only natural conclusion. The last step bringing a friendship stronger than life, stronger than the limits of human form, to full cycle.<br/>
But Harry didn’t have to die. If things went the right way, he didn’t even have to know there was a war going on at all. </p><p>Harry could be a boy, somewhere along the sand and the ocean, while the men fought in the conflict he had already given so much of his youth to. It felt somewhat wrong, making the choice for him, but then Harry hadn’t chosen to be the obsession of a madman either. </p><p>Harry hadn’t chosen to lose his loving parent before having the opportunity to get to know them properly. He hadn’t chosen to be raised by people that despised the inner essence of his own being. He hadn’t chosen to be the child hero of a world quick to turn its back on him at the first, uncomfortable truth. </p><p>Harry hadn’t chosen.</p><p>“Having second thoughts?” He asked, just to be sure.</p><p>“No - definitely, no. I just worry, what if I am not able to fit in? To do it on my own?”</p><p>“Ha- Evan. I might not know you well -“, not as well as I’d like “but I am sure that whatever you put your mind to, you’ll do just fine. Better than that, you’ll do great”.</p><p>Harry still looked doubtful, eyes gazing at the open palm resting on his legs as if they held the answers to his concerns. </p><p>“People will like you for who you are”. The distraught faces of Ron and Hermione, tear streaked and lost, ignite a different kind of guilt. Some already have, it’s what he wanted to say.</p><p>Harry nodded. His left hand slid to the chain around his neck, twirling the little pendant between his fingers absentmindedly. An owl, eyes two round pools of glass.<br/>
During the purging of Grimmauld Place, he and Sirius had come across the trinket, looking innocent among the cruelty collected by generations of Blacks. But Sirius had been disgusted. </p><p>“That thing is vile” he had growled, trashing it into the rising pile of objects on the floor of one of the guest rooms.<br/>
“I think it was made innocently enough, as much as anything owned by my beloved family can be considered such. It was meant to absorb the wild magic of children before they were ready enough to use it, something to avoid them accidentally breaking one of these rich assholes’ delicately evil heirlooms. I am sure Great Grandfather Black and his delightful gang of blood purists enjoyed using it on Muggleborns to weaken their magic. All charm and snake. Pretty lady, a special gift to adorn your lovely neck-“ his voice had taken a mockingly concerned tone “and there you have it, Your Honour, a squib. Of course, I will take her into my service, poor thing. It was one of Mother’s favourite bed time stories”. He had concluded bitterly. </p><p>Despite Sirius’ glare had almost been enough to set the entire pile on fire, the matter of Voldemort return had taken priority over everything, so that anyone from the Department of Magical Artefacts and Regulations had yet to come and collect it. To this day, the objects still lay scattered across the cold tiles.</p><p>It had felt like the foulest sin to pick it up and pocket it swiftly whilst the house was preoccupied with Harry’s disappearance. Sirius’ words resounded sharp in his mind, accusations of betrayal. Vile! Nasty! Wrong! </p><p>There was no way, however, that Harry’s wouldn’t freak out at his incontrollable bursts of magic. What could have passed for tricks of an active imagination as a child, would definitely raise some questions in his 16 years old mind. </p><p>Vile. Nasty. Wrong. But safe. </p><p>It was on the spur of the moment that, after finding the shards of Sirius’ two way mirror in Harry’s trunk, he had decided to encase two small, round pieces in the void of the owl’s eyes.<br/>
Not enough to see much or to give a location, just small glimpse to assure himself that Harry was okay. There wasn’t any other way, nothing that could put him in closer contact with Harry without it being dangerous for the boy. He needed to cut all the ties and let Harry’s future decisions hide his tracks in between the billions of people and paths life threw his way. Hidden to all and to him, too. </p><p>With the second mirror safely stored at his grandparents’ Muggle house as the only connection left, it was time to let Harry go.</p><p>The cab pulled into one of the airports drop out spots, and there was no to time left.</p><p>This was it, a goodbye. </p><p>They thanked the driver with few words and a roll of cash. Harry stood awkwardly at the side, a backpack slung across one shoulder and his new red luggage gripped firmly in the other hand.</p><p>The urge to take him into his arms was overwhelming, but they weren’t there yet, not in this life. Not when he was only Evan James’ school teacher and little more. </p><p>“So, it’s time. . .” He trailed off, feeling silly and vulnerable.</p><p>“Yeah” Harry replied with a half smile.</p><p>“Do you need, you know -“ he gestured to the luggage. </p><p>“No. No, I’ll be fine. . . Thank you. Thank you so much”.</p><p>And then Harry was hugging him. It was brief and a little stiff, but it took all his strength not to hold on and never lose his grip.</p><p>“Goodbye, then”.</p><p>“Goodbye”. Harry, “Good luck”.</p><p>He stayed there, looking at Harry’s retreating back and long after he was gone. People passed around him in a busy blur and, in the chaos, he was invisible. So, he took his time, a steady breath after the other. </p><p>The sky had cleared and the airplanes stood in contrast against the blue, faint tails of white going in all directions. He had never been a believer, but today he wanted to. He wanted to imagine James and Lily watching their son fly. </p><p>He shook his head. James and Lily were gone.</p><p>A van honked by, diverting his gaze to the flashy vehicle advertising Christmas deals. It was only September and the end of the year seemed so far away. </p><p>He wondered if Harry would be happy that Christmas.</p><p>With that thought in mind, he found a secluded spot and apparated back to Cardiff. </p><p>In the privacy of his uncharted house, for the first time in years Remus wept into his palms.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Drums roll for the big reveal! </p><p>Which, I am sure wasn’t shocking at all 😅</p><p>Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I don’t know why but I never considered Remus one to cry easily. I guess his life experience hardened him somehow in that instance.</p><p>Please, do let me know what you think about this 🙃</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dead man’s steps (POV Draco)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the late update but life is very crazy right now so it’ll be a bit sporadic for a while. Enjoy Draco’s angst, because I do 🙃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last day of his life passed like a photo album of someone else’s. Snapshots of inconsequential moments that didn’t matter, didn’t belong to him. </p><p>It felt like opening his eyes underwater, the sting of tears just barely held in under salted eyelids, because Malfoys didn’t cry. Often. When it mattered. </p><p>The world came in and out of focus, and if he let himself concentrate on the insane part of his mind that kept screaming for control he could have sworn to hear the sound of a camera going off. </p><p>Click. </p><p>Pansy’s nose scrunched up unattractively in laughter.</p><p>Click.</p><p>Greg’s huge hands reaching for a third serving of muffins, nails short and uneven.</p><p>Click.</p><p>Vincent’s knee, bouncing with expectant energy. With gleeful anticipation. Draco dug his nails in his own knees and swallowed the bile.</p><p>Click.</p><p>The slanted curve of Blaise’s eyes, fixed on his face with that knowing look that curled Draco’s fingers into fists. He wanted to pound at the soft flesh of Blaise’s high cheekbones until smooth velvet turned purple with abuse, demanding who had appointed him to the Supreme Court of the High and Mighty. </p><p>For the lack of better, he settled on flipping him off. Then, remembering his manners, he added his index in a double bird salute and averted his eyes, knowing he couldn’t stand to see the pity he would see in the other boy’s.</p><p>Pathetic, the dying voice of his remaining sanity whispered in his mind, sounding a lot like the sneer that used to taunt Potter ten thousands years ago.</p><p>Even breakfast stretched over decades, the clock mocking him with the gift of time when all he wanted was the day to be over and done with. </p><p>He had always believed that his last day would taste like longing and regret, but all he could feel on the tip of his tongue was a tender ache and burnt coffee. Like the elves knew it was his last and messed up, just this once.<br/>
He rolled the flavour around his mouth, thinking that if things went to shit he would never taste coffee again. </p><p>He would never taste someone else’s tongue in his mouth, and for the first time that year he felt the unwelcome jolt of raw want in his gut. His gaze lifted on its own accord.</p><p>Click.</p><p>Theo’s mouth, already tilted in his direction like a pull. The brief moment of desire dwindled at the perpetual frown matching Blaise’s stare, lips a thin line of judgment. </p><p>He could have loved Theo, maybe. In another life, when he was a week past his 17 birthday and allowed to be just a boy that thought with his dick and his heart. They could have conquered the world, the three of them, with Blaise’s charm and Draco’s poise and Theo’s quiet and sharp wit. The Slytherin’s throne, in the worst case scenario. </p><p>They could have.</p><p>Instead Draco hunched his too thin shoulders and nodded in the direction of Vincent and Greg, a signal that they had things to do. Their responding grins made him sick, and he couldn’t decide if he was weak or just human. </p><p>The rest of the day passed in a haze of snapshots, where all the in-betweens were lost to muscle memory and actions he couldn’t remember doing. </p><p>Things were bound to go to shit.</p><p> </p><p>The sky was dark when he finally stumbled out of the Room of Hidden Things, shutting the door and feeling it disappear behind his back. Two girls giggled with the grace of Vincent and Greg and Draco let his head thump against the hard stone, wanting to laugh hysterically until he was a crumpled mess on the floor. </p><p>Wanting. 16 years old Draco had wanted many things. 17 years old Draco closed his eyes and thought of flying and a happy boy gripping the handle of his broom and racing against the wind and a flicker of gold dancing just out of reach. If there could only be one last thing, Draco wanted the simple feeling of happiness. </p><p>The end-of-spring air filtered heavily through the castle’s windows, smelling of rain and, strangely, of wet dog. Magic bubbled under Draco’s skin, making the fine hair of his wrist stand under the baggy sleeves of his shirt. Powerful. Deadly.<br/>
He couldn’t help the small flare of pride in his chest at the thought of the spells he had mastered during this wrecked year, or ten thousands, and hated himself for it.</p><p>He thought about Theo and Blaise, probably fucking in their empty dorm while Blaise mind was on Daphne’s tits and Theo’s on Draco’s sins. He thought about Potter, the bastard that got out behind everybody’s back, with the shape of Draco’s knuckles still fresh on his skin. Maybe Potter was a product of his insane mind, and they were all crazy. Maybe Potter was Draco’s first step into the pit and he was a killer after all.</p><p>It should have made it easy, that thought. Easy to take each step to the Astronomy Tower like it was the honour he had so foolishly believed it to be when there was another Draco living in his much healthier skin. But new Draco didn’t lie to himself, and this was anything but. Because, no matter the outcome, tonight was the end. The inevitable finish line. </p><p>If he survived, tomorrow nothing would be the same. And, the cowardly part of Draco that was the last standing piece of his old self, was planning to survive with his teeth and nails, Salazar be damned. </p><p> </p><p>“Draco, you are not a killer”. Dumbledore’s voice sounded faint but steady. He stood slumped and twisted, pale skin hanging off his bones like he had died a year before, on that first of September that would go down in Wizard’s History twenty years from then, narrated in Binn’s monotone drawl.<br/>
Draco wanted to tell him just that. He wanted to lie through his teeth and claim he could do it without a hint of guilt, that it would be like kicking dead meat anyway.</p><p>“It wouldn’t be the first time.” He said instead, going for cocky and falling a mile short. Bitterness tasted like burnt coffee. </p><p>“Close.” Dumbledore admitted sadly, “But that poor girl, Katie, is doing much better. It was a dangerous game, Draco, but it’s not too late.”<br/>
All Draco could hear was the condescending tone that reminded him why he held the Headmaster to such contempt.</p><p>“I didn’t even remember about that stupid bint!” He lied, the image of Bell’s seizing body suspended in the air forever burnt behind his eyelid and in the deep subconscious of his nightmares. “A dead man’s last wish, I suppose I owe you that much. It’s ironic, how the Greatest Wizard of our age couldn’t figure out what happened to a 16 years old with talent only in legend and bed-time tales. It’s killing you already, I can see it.” He spat, feeling a rage that wasn’t entirely directed at the man in front of him, a man that he had almost begrudgingly come to respect on some occasions. “Or maybe it’s the guilt eating at your flesh, for not even you could protect precious boy star Potter”, he added, glancing at the darkened hand gripping at the rail without any strength if not sheer shock. </p><p>Draco noticed just then the two abandoned brooms behind the Headmaster and the sudden feeling of alarm sent the clock in his mind ticking down faster.</p><p>Dumbledore's voice wavered “You cannot possibly mean. . . No, it’s impossible, I would have known. You are a child, Draco.” The last sentence sounded like “monster” to Draco’s ears.</p><p>“Yeah, I killed him on that train and no one ever suspected me. A child, you say. And I- I left Potter choking on his own blood on that filthy carpet. I guess that cloak of his was more powerful than expected, because no one found the b- b- body”. Draco’s voice broke, begging for absolution. </p><p>Dumbledore’s reaction caught him by surprise. The older wizard stood straighter, shaking his head. “What have you done. . . Oh, what have you done. I should have known, after Sirius. James and Lily. I should have seen it in your heart, one can only take as much. . . Please forgive the blindness of an old man”. He pleaded, louder, to the air. </p><p>Draco started to feel unsettled and confused, buckling under Dumbledore’s sudden stare. None of the accusations sounded like they were directed at him and he thought that his confession might have finally broken the pillars of the Headmaster’s precarious sanity. The hysterical image of pins flashing bright, welcoming Dumbledore as a member of Draco’s “Nutters Club”, invaded his mind, further proving the fact that he was indeed losing it. </p><p>“The train, you say?” The Headmaster demanded. There were no traces of crazy in his voice and Draco wanted to ask “how”, because it wasn’t fair to sound that composed on the edge of madness. </p><p>“Draco” Urgent. An order, and Draco snapped out of it because at least he was good at following orders. He nodded, wary.</p><p>“Then we have no time”. Dumbledore eyed his wand, clutched tightly in the boy’s grip and sighed. With a twirl of his healthy hand a vial appeared out of thin air, steadily filling with the stream of pearly liquid coming out of the Headmaster’s right ear. </p><p>Draco watched, enchanted, until the vial was thrusted into his hand, the other man’s finger closing around his own. “This is vital, Draco. I trust you. I am no fool, despite what you might think, and I know I am dying tonight”. </p><p>The sound of steps was getting closer and Draco knew. His heart clenched painfully, and suddenly he wanted this long day to last a little bit longer. A little more time. </p><p>“Watch it.” Dumbledore instructed, resigned. “You are not a killer, Draco, but you are also a survivor, and you want this war to end. I wish I had more time to explain, more time to lift this burden from your hands, but I am dying tonight. Find Harry”. Then, to the air, again “Remus, please”.</p><p>Draco wanted to ask, wanted to swear and cry and scream. Wanted to say Harry was dead and Harry was never alive and they were all crazy.</p><p>He wanted to beg to call Granger, that he didn’t want any job or any burden or any Potter in his life. Wanted to ask who the fuck was Remus, and please what and why.</p><p>But the clock ticked to zero and the steps were now voices and Dumbledore was falling with all his answers. Draco was frozen, fingers tight around two wands and a glass vial. Snape’s hand tugged at his wrist, dragged him down the stairs and lost grip in the chaos waiting for them. </p><p>The smell of wet dog was the last thing he felt before he was pulled into the opposite direction, towards the dark hideout of one of the castle’s many alcoves. </p><p>“Stupefy”. Draco’s vision went black.</p><p>He dreamt of the cooling sting of tiles against his cheek and an oddly familiar voice telling him “I’ll be back” before he passed out again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I kind of imagine Lupin taking Harry’s place in the quest for the horcruxs but also Dumbledore petrifying him in the same way he did Harry in canon because he knew he had to die that night and that Remus would have fought against it in the same way. Dumbledore never suspected Remus because he never saw the possibility of someone wanting Harry out of that life enough to take measures like that, because he, albeit for the “greater good” always saw Harry as the way to end the war and not just a boy that deserved more</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Tales of sand (POV Draco)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m not sure this chapter is any good and I’m not rereading it but I feel the story will never progress if I don’t just go for it and get it out. I will probably correct all the many mistakes later. Thank you for reading ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco came to his senses slowly, groggy with sleep and the disorienting feeling of waking up in an unknown place.  He shifted against rough fabric, coughing as a puff of dust filled his nostrils and made his eyes water. His mouth tasted stale and dry, and for a moment he wondered how much he had to drink the night before.</p><p>As the rest of his senses recovered he realised there was someone talking close by, words unintelligible against his pounding headache.<br/>
He rubbed at his eyes, finally forcing them open. The first thing he noticed in the haze was a soft purple light coming through the window, casting the scarce furnishing in long shadows. Dusk. </p><p>Dusk.</p><p>For some reasons it didn’t make sense, and memories came rushing back to him in a cold wave. The vanishing cabinet. The Astronomy Tower. Dumbledore, lifeless body white against the dark canvas of the night sky. </p><p>Night, not dusk, and Draco almost sagged in relief at what must have been just a horrible dream. He closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards, groaning when the impact sent an uncomfortable jolt down his spine. As his breaths grew deeper the voice around him became louder. Draco was about to tell Blaise to knock it off and let him sleep when he realised that the voice sounded frantic and very much not Blaise’s.</p><p>The timbre was vaguely familiar but lacked the instant recognition of an intimate connection and Draco’s curiosity suddenly spiked in tune with his heartbeat. It wasn’t fear exactly that prompted him to move slowly, as to avoid alerting the other person of his rouse, but caution. The instinctual need to assess the situation before revealing his cards, so to gain the upper hand in case of danger. </p><p>Only when he was sitting fully straight he spotted the other man. His pupils narrowed in shock even thought the deepest part of his subconscious argued that it wasn’t exactly unexpected. Professor Lupin was pacing the floor of what Draco realised must have been the lounge of a modest looking house. Remus Lupin, his brain provided helpfully. </p><p>Remus.</p><p>His former Professor moved like a caged animal, seemingly oblivious to the world. His hands were buried into his hair, tugging at the strands in a way that didn’t appear entirely comfortable, and he was deep in conversation with himself.<br/>
Even if Draco had recently had his personal fair share of crazy, the man in front of him looked like he must dine with insanity on the regular. </p><p>For what he could make out Lupin was blathering about dolphins and Draco pinched himself. </p><p>The hallucination didn’t go away. </p><p>Suddenly the entire situation felt so surreal that Draco relaxed, tension leaving his limbs as he sagged against the sofa. When his body regained control he felt the uncomfortable pressure on his bladder and took the opportunity for a brief escape.</p><p>“Where. . . Hem. . . Where’s the bathroom?” His voice sounded raspy and feeble but it hit Lupin as if he had shouted.<br/>
The other wizard stopped and stared at Draco like he had somehow accidentally conjured him out of thin air and was surprised that he was a real boy.</p><p>“The bathroom?”</p><p>“Yes,” Draco enunciated slowly “you know, the lavatory. Unless you rather me going right here, I am not in the mood of improving the furnitures”. He shrugged, wrinkling his nose at the stripy pattern of the old sofa.</p><p>“No, of course. There is a small toilet just to the right of the staircase. I. . . Uhm, I need to warn you there are anti-apparition wards in the house, so you know. . .”. His eyes drifted awkwardly to a spot just a few inches away from Draco’s left hand.</p><p>The surprise at finding he had not been disarmed faded when Draco noticed the second wand poking out from the folds in the cushions. His stomach churned and he hastily snatched his own wand before scrambling for the toilet.</p><p> </p><p>His stomach was empty, not even the faint taste of the coffee he had for breakfast left but bile and acid. He rested his head against the cool ceramic, feeling disgusting but finding he didn’t have it in himself to care.</p><p>After his bladder was finally relieved he took his time at the sink, realising only once it was under the spray of water that his wand was still clutched in his grip. He could break the narrow window and find a spot to apparate. He could attack the man in the other room, take him by surprise and demand answers. He could cast a cleaning charm to rid himself of the taste of vomit and stale.</p><p>He could.</p><p>Instead he squirted a small drop of toothpaste on his finger and scrubbed his mouth until it felt numb, mint and blood mixing.<br/>
With a last glance at the ghost of himself in the mirror, he wiped his chin and entered the lounge.</p><p> </p><p>Professor Lupin sat at the small dining table with two cups of tea in front of him, far enough out of reach that they could have both belonged to Draco. Draco wanted to say no, thank you and fuck you. But there was no point in punishing himself and he peered inside the cups, picking the one clouded by a splash of milk. </p><p>“Sugar?”</p><p>“Yes.” He replied, just to be a bother.</p><p>Lupin walked tiredly to the kitchen, as if knowing that Draco wouldn’t have been satisfied with the use of magic. Only when the younger wizards had stirred three spoonfuls into his tea he finally spoke. “He had never seen the ocean. 16 years and living most of them an hour or so from the  beach, and he had never put his feet on sand. What was I supposed to do? Almost a man and his only glimpse of water was on his 11th birthday and. . . And that went as well as it did. . .”.<br/>
He looked at Draco expectantly, obviously waiting for some sort of judgment. </p><p>Draco shifted, deciding that he better ignore whatever the fuck that was about in lieu of getting the answers he needed “How did I get here, wherever here is?”</p><p>Lupin eyed him curiously, weighing the question like Draco was the one being a cryptic bastard. “Shrieking Shack” he replied, persisting in making zero fucking sense. “And Cardiff, but that hardly matters.”</p><p>“Hardly matters? And. . . What. The. Fuck?”</p><p>“Side-along apparition, I took you to the Shrieking Shack and apparated us here.” He matched Draco’s incredulous stare with narrowed eyes “I know my way around the castle. And here is Cardiff, Wales. My home, I suppose”.</p><p>Draco’s exhaustion fuelled his rage and he was suddenly shouting, tea scalding his trembling fingers “You need to take me back! I need to get back with them”.</p><p>“I can’t. And they are gone now, you have been here for almost two days, Draco”. </p><p>Dusk. </p><p>Draco shook his head in denial. “What!? My mother. . . I need. . . She is not safe. ”</p><p>“I’m sorry. . .”</p><p>“The fuck you are! Take me back!” His hawthorn wand glowed, sending little sparks that caught on the other man’s jumper like cigarette burns. </p><p>Lupin sighed, resigned “Look, you were exhausted. I didn’t do much other than aiding your sleep, but it looked like you needed it, and I had things to take care of after. . . After” His voice drifted but Draco didn’t need any help to fill the blanks. </p><p>After.</p><p> “As for your mother I cannot promise anything, but you did what you were asked.” It was said such matter-of-factly that Draco stopped shaking. He had expected rage but his former Professor’s gaze was gentle, pinning him to the spot. “It doesn’t really matter who casted the final spell, I suppose, not when Dumbledore’s. . . Dumbledore’s death is an ultimate victory in the eye of You Know Who. A reason for celebration. No pure blood would be spilled over the disappearance of an insignificant pawn, no offence.”</p><p>Draco shook his head again, dazed.</p><p>“I’m sure you’ll be cast off as a prisoner of the Order of the Phoenix and I doubt you know enough for that to be of any importance in the greater scheme”. </p><p>“But, my mother! She’ll go mad!” Even as he spoke he knew that Narcissa Malfoy’s pain was of no concern to the same Dark Lord that had sentenced her only son to an impossible task less than a year before. </p><p>“I’m sorry” Lupin repeated, genuine. “But I had no other choice. You have something that I need.”</p><p>“The vial!”</p><p>“The vial.”</p><p>Draco patted his pocket at the confirmation, feeling the hard contours of the bottle against his fingers. “Why?”</p><p>The other wizard rubbed his face, looking extremely old in a young broken shell “I was the one that found Harry on the train, the day you broke his nose. Although, I couldn’t be sure it was you. We didn’t exactly have time to talk”</p><p>“Potter is here?” Fucking Potter was alive. Draco scanned the room, adrenaline pumping in his veins. Potter had been in Wales the entire fucking time and Draco could punch him again. Would punch him again.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Or maybe he wouldn’t. “But you know where he is!”. It wasn’t much of a question, still the denial startled him.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The concise answers grated on his nerves and Draco thought he might have found someone to punch, after all.</p><p>Lupin must have seen the manic glint in his eyes, because he added “Not really, not anymore.”</p><p>“You LOST HIM?”</p><p>“Give me the vial, Draco.” The request was still gentle but Draco took a step back and let out an incredulous laugh.</p><p>“Fat chance. Talk. What did you do with Potter?” A new fear rose in his guts, the reality of what Professor Lupin was making his head spin with gruesome possibilities. He retreated further until his back hit the wall. </p><p>The older wizard recognised the signs and hunched his shoulders, making himself smaller. He didn’t try to approach Draco and when he spoke his voice was incredibly sad “I gave him a second chance, I hope. At least, I like to think I have.” </p><p>The words that followed woved into a tale of new identities and Muggle metal birds, that took who had once been the Boy Who Lived into a new life in which he was just a boy. Draco stood there, pressed against the wall, and listened. </p><p> </p><p>Draco’s thoughts whirled around the idea of a Harry Potter that didn’t even know who he was, that had no idea the two of them had despised each other for five years and counting. A Harry Potter that had never once wondered about him in the long year during which Draco’s mind was often drifting to his last encounter with the prat.<br/>
It tasted as bitter as the coffee. </p><p>“So you don’t even know if he is alive right now?” He spat, pondering on what he really wanted to ask.</p><p>“No, I know he is. I told you about the amulet. I don’t often look but. . .  I’ve seen glimpses. I've seen the sea, an awful lot of it, and. . . Uhm” Lupin flushed slightly and wringed his fingers together “other things. He is alive.” </p><p>“Caught Potter with his hands down his pants, have you?” Draco sneered hysterically. </p><p>Lupin ignored the jab, but his skin remained tinged. </p><p>“So” Draco prodded, feeling childishly vindicated “we have all been bleeding our hearts dry thinking about poor Potter while the git was somewhere out there building sandcastles and playing muggle with his dick”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you have never wished you could start afresh?” The other man’s eyes glinted yellow in the pale light of the lounge, effectively holding Draco’s gaze in their own. </p><p>“Not as a muggle.” He said, because anything else would have been a lie. </p><p>“Muggles are people, Draco. And Harry might have not been lucky with the ones he grew up with but he spent more than half of his life as one of them. He knew it in his bones how to adapt, and it was the safest option. Magic is not everything, despite what you were raised to believe”. </p><p>He wanted to scoff, argue that Magic was indeed everything, if only to be contrary. Lupin cut him off, though, and stood up, heading for the kitchen. </p><p>Draco watched as he approached one of the glossed cabinets above the stove and started rummaging in what looked like a chaos of miss-matched plates and plastic bowls. After a minute he turned around holding a small stone basin, covered in elaborate runes. It was oddly beautiful, in contrast to the sundries cluttering the shelves.</p><p>“The vial, Draco. Please”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Liquid Memories (POV Draco)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m sorry this is taking forever but I had zero to no time and this chapter just didn’t want to write itself. How rude.</p><p>I would appreciate if you want to let me know what you think 🙃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco brushed his fingers against the glass in his pocket, considering.<br/>
The little bottle felt tepid against his digits, the last memories of his former Headmaster pulsing with the remnants of great power. Careful to keep it out of reach, he lifted the vial in front of his face, holding it precariously between two fingers. The glass swayed, unsettling the silvery substance into chaotic swirls. </p><p>He kept his eyes trained on the mesmerising pattern and asked “Why?”.</p><p>“Those are memor-“ Lupin started explaining with an edge of condescending in his Professor voice.</p><p>“I know what these are!”, Draco snapped, irritated “I mean why should I give it to you? If I recall correctly, and pardon me but the events were so delightful that my brain might still be muddled, this little thing was given to me. Therefore, and again do say if I am mistaken, it is mine.” The last word was gritted out in challenge.</p><p>“Draco, please, it was clear the message in that bottle was meant-“ </p><p>“Mine”. He interrupted again, sweet rage making the words roll off his tongue like ice. “So, explain again why I should give it to you? Why shouldn’t I instead, let’s say. . . drop it?” </p><p>He watched impassively as the fragile glass started its descent towards the laminated floor, to then snatch it at the last second with his left hand, just barely gripping it between his fingertips and his wand. His father might have bought his team a better chance at winning, but he did not buy his spot as Slytherin’s rightful seeker, Draco thought viciously.</p><p>Lupin released a breath, eyes still bulging in horror. “Be reasonable,” he pleaded, “I was there on the tower. Dumbledore must have known you were coming, he put me under a spell. I was. . . I couldn’t move. He was talking to ME. We were taking care of- we had a task. This is important, Draco”.</p><p>Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek and pondered on what to do, not willing to comply without a fight. He itched for a fight, his magic coiling his muscles with nervous energy.</p><p>“If you really wanted it so badly you could have taken it while i was fucking unconscious on your sofa for the last two days. Or is it touching me while I sleep too far even for a creature like you?”. </p><p>To his surprise, Lupin tilted his head, assessing him curiously “You are quite mouthy for being Lucius Malfoy’s son”.</p><p>Draco scoffed “It’s not like he’d approved.” In fact, his father downright detested when he talked like a garden gnome. After starting Hogwarts he had taken moderate pleasure at cursing under his breath whenever Lucius had chastised him about his grades, feeling a rush of euphoria at the small act of rebellion. </p><p>“Of-fucking-course I am aware mudblood Granger is above me in all but one subject, father, fuck you very much”. His father was always too far gone in his rants to notice the mumbled words, and Draco would just wait until the lecture was over to plaster a complacent expression over his features and nod meekly, ever the perfect son.</p><p>There was something powerful about the word “fuck” that couldn’t really be expressed in any other way. Gryffindors could only be described as fucking lame, as much as Greg’s eating habits were definitely fucking gross. And then there was Potter. Potter always deserved a good fuck. </p><p>Draco was so lost in thoughts that he barely noticed his former Professor’s lips twitching into a small smile, but had to look up at the humor in his voice, almost fond “Sirius was the same”.</p><p>Black, his mother’s cousin.</p><p>“He was beautiful, you know.” His mother had once told him in a detached voice, none of the affection that he could hear in Lupin’s present in her words. “Aunt Walbuga had always been severe looking, harsh jaw and small eyes, but her eldest was all pure blood symmetry and charm. You have his eyes, Draco.” She had said, as if talking about the weather. “He could have gone far.” </p><p>And that had been it, the only words his mother could spare for a cousin she no longer considered as such. “If he hadn’t been a blood traitor. If he hadn’t made the wrong choices.” She didn’t say, but Draco heard it anyway. </p><p>Thinking about his mother made him flinch. “I have nothing in common with that man!”.</p><p>“Perhaps not.” Lupin conceded, the irritation Draco was pushing for finally bleeding into his tone. </p><p>“I’m hungry” he declared, just to see that precariously constructed balance collapse. </p><p>But the other man didn’t take the bait, just spared him a look one would give to a tantruming child before opening a few doors and dropping a block of cheese, crackers and a spotted banana on the small breakfast table in the kitchen’s corner.</p><p>“We are out of caviar, I am afraid.” He sneered mockingly. </p><p>For a moment they stared at each other like two cats, teeth bared, but Draco’s traitor stomach growled and he had to concede defeat. </p><p>The crackers were slightly stale and Draco had to bite into the cheese like a savage when it became clear that the other wizard wasn’t going to provide a knife without prodding. All Draco had left was his pride, so he swallowed around sticky fingers and kept an obstinate silence. Truth was, he hadn’t eaten in days and, once his body caught up with the program, he couldn’t help polishing the food. </p><p>“Where in Merlin’s name did you even get a pensieve?” He asked, taking a big gulp of the water put in front of him and looking at the vial that now stood beside his empty plate. Apparently he couldn’t help his own damned curiosity either. </p><p>Lupin sighed “I guess thief has made my resume, among all the other things. . . Well, not exactly but Albus was the only one I knew who had one, and it was clearly what he wanted. . .”<br/>
He trailed off, slightly apologetic.</p><p>“You broke into the Headmaster office?!? Wow!” Draco whistled, twirling the little bottle in between his fingers. “Just- wow! I’ve always thought you a lower class bore that had to scumble his way up Dumbledore’s skirt to secure even the minimal required desk job to match the personality, but the list of felonies just keeps on giving!”</p><p>“I am aware”. The other man’s voice snapped frigidly and Draco was delighted at the reaction. </p><p> “Oh my, what would Saint Potter think? Mind you, he gets off breaking the rules so this could make his wank library. I dare say, though, I’m impressed”.<br/>
He shifted his gaze back towards his former Professor, smirking at the annoyance he could see painted across Lupin’s features. </p><p>“Can’t relate. Listen, Draco, I think we could help each other here. That vial for whatever I can offer, name your price. Besides, I don’t see you wanting to get involved more than you already are, I’m trying to get this responsibility off your shoulders!”</p><p>Unsure if it was his now full stomach or the truth behind his Professor’s last words that made him complacent, but Draco found himself agreeing. “Fair enough. I want money and. . . And, I want protection, a new identity, maybe. For a while. Should be easy with your expertise and all, could even rob a bank to tick off your Azkaban bucket list. . . “ He tensed, voice wavering” And I want to know if my mother is okay”. </p><p>Lupin winced at the last request, but Draco knew he couldn’t relent. He just had to make sure she was safe. </p><p>“I don’t care how you do it, but these are my terms. Take or leave it”. He said, bolder than he was feeling.</p><p>It was a reckless move, after all he was the one stuck in between two fires, neither of which he belonged to.<br/>
On one side, provided he could find their location in the first place, he was doubtful his little stunt with their Ring Leader had brought him the favour of any of the members of the Order. On the other, he wasn’t that deep in denial to keep pretending he still wanted the dream-life of a Death Eater. He was stuck and his only hope was the man in front of him, who was eyeing him with a mix of impatience and weariness. It was probably time to tune down on the insults. </p><p>He swallowed, but kept his chin raised and his cards exposed. He was aware of being on the wrong side of the blade, but Lupin seemed too Gryffindor to notice or to abuse his own power. </p><p>“I can get you the newspaper, clippings, whatever I can find. I am sure if anything happened to your mother it would make the news. I can keep an eye on Azkaban. . . Again, if she was harmed your father would certainly be informed.” </p><p>Draco shuddered.</p><p>“But, as much of an arse you can be, you are not stupid. You know I cannot go around blatantly asking about Narcissa Malfoy’s wellbeing.”</p><p>“No. Yeah. . . Okay - that’s fine”. Draco thought about all the nameless faces he had seen vanishing at the Dark Lord’s hand throughout the previous summer, in that same house his mother called her own. But Narcissa wasn’t a nobody. She just. . . Wasn’t. She mattered. She had to be alive.</p><p>So he nodded and handed the vial over. </p><p>Lupin looked relieved, some of the weariness slipping off his tired face. “Thank you”.</p><p>Draco nodded again in acknowledgment and watched quietly as the other wizard fumbled around the pockets of his worn cardigan for his wand. He had seen his father organising his own thoughts in the Manor’s pensieve enough times for the process not to be entirely foreign, but it was still fascinating to witness.</p><p>Lupin sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, his wand pointed right above the bowl, and started chanting something in a hushed, lulling voice. Cloudy liquid slowly filled the basin, setting the precious stones encrusted in its rim alight. Their reflections danced around the room, accentuating the white scar tissue that marred most of the werewolf’s skin. Draco felt an odd pang of regret for calling the man a creature when the pain of a lifetime was so clearly etched all over his human flesh.</p><p>When the basin was full Lupin uncorked the vial and poured its silvery content into the liquid below. Twirls of smoke erupted at the contact between the two, before settling into a watery mist lingering just above the surface. </p><p>“Do you. . .?” Lupin asked, gesturing awkwardly towards the pensieve. </p><p>Draco startled at being addressed, the option of joining the other man never having crossed his mind. Did he want to look into the memories of Dumbledore, the man he basically all but killed just two days prior? Was he prepared to face that particular ghost, blue eyes still sharp with life at the back of his own memories? The vial was probably meant for Lupin, after all. </p><p>“Fuck no. As you helpfully reminded me, I am just the messenger. My job here is done.” He snorted.</p><p>Lupin didn’t reply, just turned and began lowering himself towards the shimmering mist.<br/>
Draco was about to point out that he could have used one of his hands instead, when a bubble appeared from the liquid, inflating like a balloon and propelling the other wizard across the kitchen with a loud pop. It was over so quickly that Draco had to wonder if it actually happened, but Lupin’s slumped body against the cabinets was proof that something, at least, had happened. </p><p>His Professor had knocked his head against one of the lacquered doors hard enough to leave a small indent, and was now massaging his neck with a confused frown. “Ouch. . . I don’t- I don’t understand” he winced, looking up at Draco with glossy eyes. </p><p>For a moment, they stared at each, puzzled, but before the other man could open his mouth to say something else, Draco knew. </p><p>“I do.” he murmured, pushing himself off the chair and approaching the pensieve in marvel.<br/>
“Mine.” And he dipped his finger into the bowl. </p><p>No resistance. “How? With so little time and strength, why put all this effort in keeping the others out?” Draco found himself wondering while he felt his body slipping from reality, a cold shiver travelling from his hand right through his core. </p><p>“That was an amazing piece of magic” was his last thought before he was standing in what had once been Dumbledore’s office.</p><p>It was his first time inside someone else’s mind and he found that the journey was quite different from apparition or even using a portkey. No unpleasant tug in the middle, none of the dizziness he had come to associate with teleporting to another material place. Simply a shift in and out of his body, almost nice, like a cool wave rippling through his inner essence. He was in the Headmaster’s office and at the same time he wasn’t.<br/>
Everything was so clear and sharp that he had to ponder if he had actually ever looked at a place so well to impress all of its tiny details in his mind, like Dumbledore seemed to have done with the office.  Maybe it was something the human brain always did, take photographs and then store them so deep into its recesses that it was impossible to remember them without the aid of magic. It was a weird concept, of remembering without noticing, but one that Draco had considered before during his idealistic dreams of becoming a mind healer. Dreams that had been trampled down a long time before. </p><p>Draco shook the feelings away and looked around. The slight desaturation of the colours was the only sign that something was amiss, the washed out tones serving as reminder that this was not reality. </p><p>For some reasons he had expected to be looking at the scene from Dumbledore’s eyes, although part of him already knew pensieves worked in a three dimensional plane. The older wizard was, in fact, sitting at his desk, and from his sunken cheeks, pale skin hanging off bones like ill fitting clothes, Draco realised the memory was quite recent. Probably a couple of months at most. </p><p>Dumbledore was frantically flipping through an old tome, fragile paper wrinkling carelessly at the corners in the haste. He appeared so absorbed in his task that Draco jumped when the Headmaster suddenly spoke. He stumbled backwards and into a chair, going straight through it and falling on his ass. </p><p>“I don’t understand.” Dumbledore was saying, “He hasn’t used his magic at all. The trace hasn’t picked up any activity, not even accidental. It has been almost a year Severus, and I am dying.”</p><p>Sprawled on the floor, Draco noticed a black shape shifting into view until he was unexpectedly staring at the upside down face of Severus Snape. From that angle, his Professor’s nose appeared grotesquely enlarged, nostrils flaring with tension. </p><p>If it was a surprise for Draco, who hadn’t even realised someone had entered the room, Snape's presence was clearly expected. Dumbledore barely glanced at him before giving his full attention back to the book, as if the other man had always been there. </p><p>“Direct, as always” Snape drawled in his disinterested cadence.</p><p>“No point in hiding the truth, Severus. After all you were the one that gave me a year at best. And I am a fool in many ways, but not when it comes to my own mortality”.</p><p>Dying. Draco’s eyes fled to the blackened hand resting lifelessly on the desk. The loose sleeve of Dumbledore’s robe had slipped down his arm, revealing a bird boned wrist and angry bruises, where the skin had turned purple and yellow with gangrene. The marks travelled up the forearm to disappear under the fabric, indicating that the infection, or whatever that was, was spreading. </p><p>Draco remembered thinking, that night on the tower, that the man in front of him was already dead. He remembered vaguely registering the signs of a dying body, his conscience gripping onto each and every one as an excuse to ease his guilt. The slight but incessant tremor in the limbs, the sickly gray tinge of the skin. And that hand, withered fingers just hanging loosely against Dumbledore’s thigh. But only now, up close, he could really see the damage and what he saw made his stomach churn. Dying, and it looked like there wasn’t much of that year left. </p><p>His body tensed painfully, each muscle screaming for him to turn away, but he couldn’t advert his eyes.</p><p>Dying.</p><p>There was resignation and acceptance in Dumbledore’s words, and for a short moment Draco let himself believe that that was it. The Headmaster’s last gift, for him only. </p><p>Absolution. </p><p>Dying, already. Not your fault.</p><p>But there was also fear in the older man’s voice. There was more.<br/>
“Any news from your front?”</p><p>“I can assure you that the Wizarding World would know if the Dark Lord had found Potter. As you surely know, Albus, he is not one to keep his accomplishments quiet. You don’t need me for that.”<br/>
Snape’s tone held such contempt that Draco had no doubts where his loyalties really laid. The realisation that one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted servants was a two-faced snake didn’t surprise Draco as he thought it should, but he couldn’t really put his finger on why. After all, Snape despised Potter almost as much as Draco did. </p><p>“I always need you Severus.” It was spoken with pure faith and Draco’s eyes widened when it hit him that it was that same trust what made Snape’s defection seem so natural to him. Part of him, involuntarily, must have believed in Dumbledore’s judgement, must have recognised and respected his authority. </p><p>Despite his upbringing, despite the tangled mess of opinions and facts that had been drilled into his brain from the moment he could articulate, part of Draco had admired his former Headmaster. After years of parroting Lucius’s words without questioning them, this new awareness came both as a shock and a relief. </p><p>“You’re just a bad copy of your father”. Theo’s accusations echoed in his mind and, for the first time in his life, Draco felt he could reply “Not anymore.”</p><p>A little smile tugged at his lips and he wanted to bask in this newfound lightness. He had barely gotten a taste, though, when Dumbledore’s voice pleaded softly, almost as if directed at him “And I need you one more time. When I’ll be gone, you need to find what happened to Harry. You need to find him. . .” </p><p>A pause. When he continued the older wizard sounded incredibly sad “You need to bring him back.”</p><p>“And if he doesn’t want to?” Snape sounded like he had been having this conversation a hundred times.</p><p>“It’s not in his nature.” Dumbledore affirmed with certainty.</p><p>“I don’t see why you won’t consider that the boy simply fled. It became too much and he couldn’t cope. After all, he had just lost his rabid godfather and their perfect little family dream”.</p><p>“Your dislike for James and his friends is clouding your judgment.” Draco shifted in discomfort at the reproach but Snape seemed unfazed.</p><p>“You still haven’t explained to me the obsession with the brat. With more capable wizards, myself included, you are putting an awful amount of faith in a below-average sixteen years old”.</p><p>Dumbledore ignored the jab but his next words held so much pain that Draco froze “You have heard the prophecy, Severus. You must know, Harry is our only hope to end this war.” </p><p>Snape averted his eyes, a flash of a long stewed guilt fleeting across his impassive scowl.</p><p>“Neither can live if the other survives.” Dumbledore recited, mouth twisted in a grimace. </p><p>So that was the prophecy over which his father was now rotting in Azkaban. It didn’t make sense, Draco thought wildly. Neither can survive. It was worded in such a strange way, it almost sounded as. . . </p><p>Neither. </p><p>No.</p><p>Draco would later affirm he could pinpoint with precise finality the moment understanding started creeping onto Snape’s features, the same horror reflected into his own eyes. </p><p>‘The night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself on to the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry, and it is that which gives him the power of speech with snakes, and a connection with Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to, and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die. He is the only one that can do it, Severus”.</p><p>“You cannot mean. . .” Snape stammered at the same time as Draco voiced his denial.</p><p>Dumbledore closed his eyes, the world fading around him until Draco could only see his lips moving “You need to find him, and when you do you- you need to tell him. Harry Potter is the only one that can defeat Voldemort. Moreover, I came to the conclusion that to do so, and t-this is quite important Severus. . . ” his voice shook, silver lashes glistening with tears “He must be willing to die at his hand”.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Drowning in worn cotton (Draco POV)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m on a roll, so I’m trying to squeeze as much writing as possible before I burn out again. </p><p>Let me know what you think, it really is a boost to receive your comments 🙃</p><p>Also, from now on the POV will mainly be Draco’s only</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco came to it feeling mildly disoriented, and wasn’t that becoming a fucking habit. Lupin stood, leaning over him, concern and confusion written all over his exhausted features. </p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>Ha! Was he ever fucking okay, lately.<br/>
Memories didn’t come rushing back this time, they were already there. At the front of his mind, clear as shards of glass and, no matter how many times he blinked, they would not go away. Draco was tempted to knock himself unconscious again, hoping to forget. Hoping that, maybe, this time the concussion would be fatal. </p><p>He waved Lupin off and stared blankly at the kitchen ceiling. “Dandy”, he heard his own voice croaking in the distance. “Just fucking great”.</p><p>His eyes remained fixed on the harsh lights above him until it became painful. One of the little round bulbs was broken, dull, and for some reasons that bothered him immensely. Electricity, he scoffed unimpressed. Nothing in this fucking muggle world seemed to be going right. Just as he thought so, the two remaining bulbs started flickering until they burned out with a final sizzle, casting the kitchen in semidarkness. Draco could hear his heart pumping, could feel it beating against his ribcage like a mad bird. The floor was suddenly cold and he squirmed, scrambling up until the wall was behind his back, solid and supporting. He had always been in control of his magic, since he was five. Since forever. Long before most of the other kids and yet, here he was, frying fucking lightbulbs like a toddler. </p><p>Lupin didn’t seem to pick up on his inner panic, though. He barely acknowledged the change in ambience, as if the sudden death of his appliances was nothing more than a common occurrence and, as such, insignificant.<br/>
“What happened?” He asked instead, unable to completely hide his impatience. Draco knew he wasn’t talking about the lights. </p><p>What happened, indeed. The million Galleons question.</p><p>The weak illumination coming from the dining room projected long shadows across the kitchen, painting Lupin’s face with harsh stokes of black. It made him lose all his soft, worn edges, the one that separated the man from the creature. In that light it was hard to distinguish the unthreatening, almost unassuming figure that was his former Professor, and it was terrifying. </p><p>Draco was angry. He hated it, being scared. That too, he had grown out of at 5, as it should have been. As his father had wanted. </p><p>He sat up straighter, shifting uncomfortably. He needed to consider his next words carefully, so he took his time until he was certain Lupin was going to start asking again “You need to find Potter”. There was no way around it. </p><p>The other wizard stammered, unsure, although he didn’t look surprised. “But. . . I-why?”. It was a plea more than a question and, not for the first time, Draco thought about how deeply Potter was loved. </p><p>Only his mother had ever loved him so profoundly. And even then, he was still there, fighting in a war he was raised into. Fitting like a cheap suit in a role he was led to believe he wanted.</p><p>No one had given Draco the option of the ocean. No one had set him free in the way this man, a man without any blood obligation, had done for Potter.</p><p>Flares of a long tamed jealousy prickled under his skin, feeding his anger like gasoline. He wanted to destroy. He wanted to break this man that loved Potter so much it was revolting.</p><p>The words were in his throat “Because he is nothing more than a pig for slaughter. Because Potter has to die and knowing him he will do it willingly. He will sashay to his death with his chin raised, shielding the rest of the world with his massive ego and his trice-damned hero complex that, honestly, is starting to get boring. Because there are no other options, don’t you understand, you stupid dreamer?” But he swallowed before any of that made it past his tongue. </p><p>He wanted to say it all, and more. He wanted to shout it and watch as the other man's knees buckled as the futility of his attempt to give Harry Potter a better future dawned on him. </p><p>Harry Potter didn’t have a future. He was never meant to. </p><p>But Draco knew now. He knew why the memories were given to him, and he understood why someone like Lupin, someone that loved Potter, would have never accepted what needed to be done. So he said none of that, falling willingly into the role he had been assigned. That, too, was becoming a fucking habit. </p><p>And didn’t it paint a nice little picture of his character, that Dumbledore had him pegged down as someone capable to uproot a kid from his new, shiny, fucking clueless life and send him to his death. </p><p>Still, it was Potter’s against hundreds of other’s , and Draco could only think of bodies writhing in silent agony on the Manor dinner table, the final caress of snake teeth dancing across their ankles. </p><p>Draco swallowed again, vaguely aware of the blood warming his fingertips, where his nails had dug into the tender flesh of his palms.</p><p>“Because it was a fucking stupid idea! What the bloody hell were you thinking? Do you know Potter at all? He would hate you if he knew what you did to him.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like a waterfall and he hoped the blow would hit low enough to damage. He hoped they would be enough to deter any more questions he didn’t want to answer. </p><p>Lupin looked both stunned and pained “I know”.</p><p>It was the deject that Draco could hear in his voice that made him add, almost as an afterthought “The prophecy”. Damn self control.</p><p>“The prophecy?” The other man parrotted.</p><p>“Yes, the Merlin be damned prophecy that declares our precious Potter as the saviour he was born to be. The teenage hero of those badly written romances 14years old touch themself reading, coming with his wand and his second year spells to win against the fairly superior villain and free us all. That. Prophecy.”</p><p>And then he dies, Draco avoided clarifying, confident that badly written romances didn’t end like that. And wasn’t real life just splendid!</p><p>“Oh.” Lupin said dumbly, running a hand across his face.</p><p>Draco felt like mimicking the gesture “Listen, all I know is that Potter is somehow important for ending this war” he lied through his teeth “And I am tired. . . Filthy. Honestly, you don’t look any better”. </p><p>To his surprise the other wizard relented, addressing him gently “Yeah, Okay- Okay. There is a bath upstairs, actually quite spacious. . . I mean, if you want to.  I’ll go and prepare the guest room.”</p><p> </p><p>The water was scalding and Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had a bath. It was probably in the Prefect bathroom and nothing like this. This lonely, this fucking complicated. </p><p>He stared at his legs, pale, long, raising above the water like floating branches of a dead tree. He could see the exact moment the first tear hit the surface, rippling it in symmetric circles. After that, it was all a blur. </p><p>Draco let himself cry. Cry because, somehow, he had become the boy that was capable of choosing a life over another. Crying because, despite the tears and the guilt, he knew he was still gonna do it.</p><p>Cry for a long time. Days and hours and seconds. Cry until he was certain he didn’t have any more tears left in him and then cry some more.<br/>
When it was over he tipped his head backwards, under, and didn’t come out until his lungs started burning and the water had gone cold. </p><p> </p><p>Lupin was waiting for him in the corridor, hovering awkwardly, a bundle of clothes gripped in his hands like a safety blanket. </p><p>Draco, unapologetically clad in a single towel, stared at him and waited.</p><p>“Uhm. I’m sure you don’t want to sleep in your school clothes, even with a cleaning charm and what not. . . But, well, I wasn’t really prepared and these- these were Harry’s” the other man sounded so uncomfortable that Draco almost laughed, as if anything about this fucked up situation was actually funny. </p><p>“Unless you prefer something of mine, of course.” Lupin added, uncertain. </p><p>“Those would do.” Draco said dismissively, because he really did not want to think too hard about that. </p><p>“Okay, then. This is your room.” He gestured at the door in front of them, open enough that Draco could spot a gray wallpaper with a bird motif cutting it across the middle, like little white soldiers, silhouetted orderly on the battle line. Ready to fly any minute, now. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Yeah. . . ” Lupin lingered, as if trying to express something else with the silence. When it stretched almost too long, he pressed the bundle of clothes into Draco’s arms and looked away. “Goodnight then, we’ll talk tomorrow”.</p><p>Draco didn’t trust his voice and nodded, before darting into the room and slamming the door shut behind his back. </p><p>The towel slipped down his legs and for a long moment he stood stark naked against smooth wood, chest heaving spasmodically as if he had been running for miles. </p><p>Potter’s clothes turned out to be a mismatched set, green t-shirt and navy sweat shorts. The cotton was used and almost threadbare in places, but it felt incredibly soft between his fingers. The t-shirt was baggy and too wide at the top, slipping off one of his shoulders, and wasn’t that unfair when the shorts were just the right size around his narrow waist. Draco had only considered his lack of underwear for a second, before thinking that he was considering too much and pulling them up. </p><p>They felt comfortable enough and ,somehow, Draco fell asleep, hugged in worn cotton and guilt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this chapter is shorter, but I kinda felt like it ended where it did. It’s also really sad and I am sorry, I think next chapter will be lighter and there will be more banter and planning between our two new besties. Also, Harry will appear soon, I just felt like I had to explain why Draco was given the memories first. Let’s say this poor boy will need therapy. </p><p>I hope you enjoyed it anyway🙂</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Call me by my name (POV Draco)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is mainly dialogue actually. I hope I did fine and that it flows. It’s a bit of a filler chapter but I need to get Draco on that plane 🧐</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco dreamt of Quidditch of all things. At first it was freeing, the bite of wind on his cheeks and his feet dangling miles above the ground, like he was on top of the world. Like he wasn’t suffocating in responsibilities and dirt. Even in his subconscious he sensed it, the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the chase, and leave it to him to feel the most alive while he was dreaming. </p><p>A glint of gold and he was steering the handle of his broom. Just a touch, because in his fantasies he rode a Thunderbolt VII, the new best on the market. Then, and he should have expected it, because his dreams were never not nightmares, Potter was there. Draco pulled at his broom, decreasing his speed to a nearly halt, and looked at the other boy diving towards the snitch like a bird of prey. Gracious and focused, his features blurred by the distance and momentum. An heartbeat was all it took, in the strange contorted timeline that was Dreamland, and Draco was urging his broom forward like a horse, thinking “faster” and “it’s on”.</p><p>But Potter didn’t stop at the snitch. He kept speeding towards the ground, broom gone, and he was falling. Falling. Falling.</p><p>Draco felt his fingers circling metal as soon as the other boy hit the grass below, and he froze. Suddenly he wasn’t miles from the ground anymore, barely feets, hovering in mid air like a feather. Weightless, lost. </p><p>Potter wasn’t broken, sprawled limbs and blood. He just laid like a doll, unblemished, and even from close up Draco noticed that his features were blurry, like his memory wasn’t sure of what the other boy looked like anymore. Only his eyes were clear, open and so very green that Draco thought it was all a dream, because no one had eyes that green. He wanted to lose himself in those eyes and never resurface, and that too was the dream, because it didn’t make a lick of sense.</p><p>He was still staring when someone was abruptly there, cradling Potter’s corpse in their lap. Draco felt the compulsion to shout “Get off him, get off”.</p><p>But his eyes locked with Theo’s washed out blue, and Theo was crying, pointing a trembling finger at him “You killed him! You killed him! I told you, Draco, not to go too far.”</p><p>“Stop, Theo, please. It wasn’t me, it was him. He was riding that broom, I didn’t- I wasn’t. It was his choice. . . It wasn’t me, you have to believe me Theo!” He was aware he was blabbering, but he couldn’t care.</p><p>The other boy was shaking his head, sobbing. His light brown curls flopped in his eyes, eerily messy like Potter’s, and for a mad minute Draco thought they looked like brothers. But Theo’s eyes weren’t bright, sharp. Deep, soul sucking. They didn’t kill, the same colour of forbidden spells and green, lively forests. </p><p>“You did this, Draco. There is nowhere for you to hide and, now, we are all gonna die.”</p><p>Theo vanished and Draco was on the ground instead, Potter a heavy weight in his arms. </p><p>He woke up murmuring “Sorry it had to be you, but I don’t wanna die.”</p><p>His legs were tangled in sheets and cotton shorts, the green t-shirt drenched in sweat. The other boy’s clothes hadn’t strangled him in his sleep, and, even from an ocean away,  Potter couldn’t do anything right. </p><p>He blanched, realising that he had just wished to die when, mere seconds before, his subconscious clearly knew how much he really wanted to survive this. </p><p>A life for a life. Not his life, selfish bastard that he was. </p><p>As his eyes adjusted to the light he noticed a picture on the bed side table. A muggle picture, deadly still. Even like that, just slits caught in the middle of a laugh and barely older than 13, Potter’s irises were really that green.</p><p> </p><p>Lupin was already in the kitchen, hunched over a cup of coffee. Draco snatched the pot from the counter and drank directly from it, swallowing it all in two big gulps.</p><p>“Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.” The other man looked like shit.</p><p>Lupin ignored him, eyes scanning the Prophet worriedly. “I think he has to be you, to find Harry I mean”.</p><p>Draco stopped his perusal of the shelves for anything edible and yelped “What? Absolutely not! I think you need to think again when you are clearly not high on wolfsbane”.</p><p>“Draco” and when had Lupin started to sound so much like his mother “the full moon is in a week, I can’t risk roaming around Muggles. On top of that I have work to do for the Order. We are all mourning but soon things will have to get moving again, I expect the Ministry to fall before the end of summer. You, on the other hand. . . You asked for a new identity, no one is looking for you” he added, with a tinge of guilt.</p><p>“Fuck you. It’s not like you are giving me a choice.” But Draco had to agree, because he couldn’t do anything else. “How are we even finding Potter when you have no idea of where he is?”</p><p>“Well, that’s not entirely true. I think he travelled a bit, at the beginning. But Evan James wanted to go to California, and I have my reasons to believe he came back where he started. He settled by the coast, at least. And. . .I have something that can help us.”Lupin confessed, like he was already regretting it.</p><p>“What?” Draco asked, flailing his arms around wildly “Because if it isn’t the biggest fucking dose of luck, I really can’t see how-“</p><p>“Not exactly” Lupin actually smiled at that “but close. Do you remember how Hermione won a bottle of felix felicis in Slughorn’s competition?”</p><p>Draco fixed him with a disbelieving stare, which actually elicited an amused chuckle out of the other wizard “I thought so. She, at least, seems to think that your face that day was the highlight of her year”.</p><p>“What an amazing sense of humor, no wonder we are best friends.” Draco scoffed, and then vindictively “And she only has you to thank for her wonderful year, doesn’t she?”</p><p>Lupin instantly sobered. “You are right, I am sorry. She really is the cleverest witch of her age, though. We needed to, uh, have a chat with Slughorn about something and Hermione thought why not take advantage of a little bit of luck. It’s really hard to come across felix felicis, almost impossible, but she said we were in a war. . . That she was scared for her friends, that she was hoping to find Harry one day. . . So she managed to get three more vials after that. I- I have one, should be enough for a 24 hours dose or two 12 hours ones, if you half it.”</p><p>“Wait, why don’t you send her instead?” It was a weak objection, one not carrying much hope.</p><p>“Mostly for  the same reasons why I am not going myself. Her absence will be noticed and that means the Aurors will be involved. Harry has no idea of any of this. It would be overwhelming to say the least, even without considering how an international operation of that sort would definitely alert the enemy. And, well, think about what would happen if You Know Who gets his hands on an Harry with no memories.”</p><p>“Fine.” Draco gritted out, not that he was expecting any different “And how are you planning to do this?”</p><p>“We have a month and a half before Harry’s birthday, when he will lose the trace. I think- wait, you are actually of age, right?”</p><p>“Oh yeah” Draco replied with mock casualty “Just fresh from my 17th party actually. I have to say, between my father's birthday wishes from prison and the impending matter of murdering the Headmaster, I made the most of it. Why, are you thinking of getting me a belated present?”</p><p>“I am sorry”. Lupin said again, and Draco felt there was an understanding there, a sort of kinship. Shitty birthdays were apparently a bonding experience, because his shoulders relaxed fractionally, some of the anger deflating. He considered the man in front of him, and he was suddenly hit with the realisation that Lupin wasn’t much older than him, if at all, when he had to live through the First War. He wasn’t really sure of the story there, but he had heard rumors of the friendship between his former Professor and the Potters. How many people had the other man lost? Lupin didn’t speak to him with pity, he spoke as a man that knew what it meant and didn’t wish it on anybody else. </p><p>“It’s okay. But yeah, I am of age.”</p><p>“Perfect.” And wasn’t it just. “I think it would be best to wait and give Harry’s memories back after his birthday, in case he does something that could be traced back to him.”</p><p>“You mean when he lashes out and hexes me into next century, therefore alerting everyone and their mothers of his secret location?” He couldn’t help the snark. </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Well, then. And how will he regain his memories?” Draco was genuinely interested in that point.</p><p>“I’ll teach you the spell. But, Draco, they are somewhat connected to triggers of magic, a failsafe of sort, if you wish. It doesn’t mean he will regain everything if he sees you using your wand in front of him, but it might bring some memories back. So, you need to be careful, at least until the end of July. I am not sure how long it will take you to find him, though, so you should prepare to leave soon”. And with that he was up and pacing the kitchen as if soon meant right there and then.</p><p>“Lucky me!” Draco mumbled “I suppose this is the moment to make you aware of my lack of underwear and general clothing. No offence, but I am not planning to keep wearing Potter’s.”<br/>
He tugged at the green t-shirt that was still uncomfortably plastered against his skin. </p><p>“Oh” Lupin said with a strange mix between a grimace and dread “Let’s go shopping”.</p><p> </p><p>Draco looked down at his new shoes, still doubtful. The black pair of high top sneakers stared back at him, not offering much consolation. “Absolutely not!”</p><p>“You are fixating on details! Who cares what-“<br/>
Lupin's voice was reaching a new level of exasperation that a morning spent buying clothes for someone used to expensive and tailored cuts hadn’t helped with at all. </p><p>“You are fucking kidding me! If you think I am gonna change my name to Diego like I am some sort of cheap love interest in one of those hispanic radionovelas my mother listens to on the wireless, you have to be even more stupid than I thought. And the level was pretty high already.” </p><p>What had his life become. </p><p>“I thought that, since it sounds similar to your own, it would be harder to get confused.” There was an edge of danger in Lupin’s voice.</p><p>“I am not changing my fucking name.” Draco countered, matching the tone. </p><p>“Do you know how many Dracos there are in the Muggle world? Zero! That’s how. Fucking. Many.” </p><p>Ugh, so much for the mild, placating teacher persona. Lupin’s control was slipping and Draco wanted to give it a shove.</p><p>“I don’t care.” It wasn’t his fault none of those Muggles had any taste whatsoever. </p><p>“Well then, be caught.” It almost sounded like the other man meant it, but Draco couldn’t give up just yet.</p><p>“I am not changing my name to Diego. It sounds ridiculous. Do I look like a Diego to you?” This all thing was ridiculous and maybe dying at the hand of the Dark Lord would have turned out easier. Surely less painful.</p><p>“What about your middle name?”</p><p>“Let’s not go there!” No fucking way. </p><p>“It would be only for a few months!”</p><p>“A few months too many!”</p><p>“You are impossible! It’s not my fault your family has a thing for stupid names!” Lupin’s eyes were slits and Draco smirked.</p><p>“Ah, because Remus. . .”</p><p>“Fine, you chose!”</p><p>There was something, a bittersweet memory, but patience was stretching thin on both sides and someone had to give “Well. My mother, when I was little, she used to call me Dee. So, something like Dean I guess.” Like that Muggleborn Gryffindor that was banging the girl Weasel, Draco thought hysterically. His mother would be so proud.</p><p>“Fine. Dean Mallory it is.”</p><p>“Fine.” Draco truly hoped that, if there was justice in this world, he would be amply rewarded for the shit he had to put up with.</p><p>“Fine. I am gonna go, take care of this. Help yourself to the pantry. I went food shopping while you were trying on the 100th shade of burgundy, so bon appetit, Dean.” And Lupin departed in a flurry of garments that would have impressed Snape.</p><p>Draco was left sulking in the kitchen, pulling at the loose threads of his new black jeans. He had never owned a pair and they were slightly stiff. Seeing the reaction of the girl in the Muggle shop, though, they clearly did good things to his assets so, at least, there was that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really wanted to call him Diego, but he wouldn’t let me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Suspended in mid-air (Draco’s POV)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Is this absolute rubbish? Probably. But I had to get it out anyway. This year is getting the best of me and I am absolutely stressed out, so this is my way to distract myself.</p><p>Sorry if it’s bad. And if the English makes no sense at all.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It took another three days before everything was ready. </p><p>The evening of the third found Draco sitting cross legged on the worn carpet of Lupin’s living room, back against the sofa and surrounded by papers and books. He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyelids and tried to tune back in what must have been the hundredth delineation of Muggle’s customs for that evening alone, but his mind kept wandering adrift. </p><p>He waved his wand lazily over a hardback copy of “Muggles for Dummies: 1000 easy tips to blend seamlessly into their world”, watching as page after page ripped off its bind and started folding neatly into origami cranes. Only when a modest fleet of paper birds was circling around him, he realised the other man had stopped talking. </p><p>He raised his head slowly, letting the cranes crash around him for effect, and quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”</p><p>Lupin sat on the armchair opposite him, grey streaked hair and grey cardigan against grey fabric. He created an almost toneless image, like an old, time faded photograph, if not for the violently pink journal resting on his lap. Draco thought it better not to ask about that. Lupin’s wand was still trained on the journal’s pages but his long suffering expression told Draco that the other wizard must have been observing him quietly for a while. </p><p>“How much of that did you hear?”</p><p>“All of it.” Draco lied.</p><p>Lupin fixed him with a pointed look and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disapproval. </p><p>Draco sneered “I did. Or do you need me to write a seven feet essay on the wonders of airpains to prove it, then, Sir?”</p><p>“It’s airplanes. And that idea sounds more tempting by the minute, seeing as I was discussing -You know what? It doesn’t matter.” His former Professor shook his head, tapping his fingers idly on the cover of the journal. “It’s going to be a huge cultural shock. . . Especially for someone like you.” He added, gesturing vaguely with the other hand in his direction. Draco nostrils flared. “I just want you to be ready.”</p><p>“You spent the last 72 hours lecturing me on how they are not that much different from us. How difficult can it be? I am not an idiot”.</p><p>“That so?” The other man countered, showing a hint of teeth, but he didn’t press it further. “Well then, if you have everything packed -“.</p><p>“Yes” Draco gritted out. His flight was early the next morning and most of his day had been spent mechanically folding his new clothes by hand, in the desperate hope to keep his mind numb. As much as he had tried arguing against it, international portkeys were only released with the Ministry approval. It was a commodity they could not afford when playing “find the Potter before they find you”, so he had to swallow years of mistrust and loathing and put his life in the hands of Muggle’s dubious physic knowledge. While he had, in fact, tried listening to Lupin’s long list of reasons why airplanes were perfectly safe, actually being inside the thing was gonna be a completely different matter. Draco suspected that, even when presented with solid evidence of an airplane actually flying, part of him would always believe they had no business doing so.</p><p>“Good. . . Good! If you want to-“.</p><p>“No.” Draco interrupted again, raising to his feet. “As extravagant as it might sound to you, I need sleep.” He deliberately ran his eyes over the other man’s figure, mouth twisted in disdain. He wasn’t sure when was the last time Lupin had slept, but the weariness from the approaching full-moon only accentuated further the signs of exhaustion on his already pale skin.<br/>
“And so do you” was left unsaid, but Draco let the judgment transpire heavily in his gaze. </p><p>Lupin simply looked away. </p><p>When the silence stretched a bit too long Draco snatched the first book he could reach from atop one of the scattered piles, vaguely registering it was titled A Guide to Muggle Currencies, and bid the other man goodnight. “Nothing like a light reading to promote good dreams.” He said, waving the book dramatically. </p><p>He was just past the door threshold when he heard a muttered “Say what you want, but you and Padfoot are definitely related.”</p><p>He pooped his head back into the lounge “The what-who now?”. But Lupin ignored him. His head was already bent over the journal, a bluish light streaming from his wand and softly illuminating his concentrated frown. </p><p>Draco went upstairs feeling slightly out of depth, not sure if he ought to be offended by the nonsensical remark.</p><p>Once in his room he slipped into Potter’s t-shirt, set an alarm for 5 am on his wand and inhaled half a dose of Dreamless Sleep, praying Salazar would let him wake up ten years in the past.</p><p>When his wand started buzzing insistently next to his ear just a few hours later, he was unfortunately still 17, still wrapped in Potter’s clothes and, worst of all, he still had a flight to catch. </p><p>It was so early that the room was drenched in darkness, a single sliver of first morning light barely filtering through the heavy drapes. Draco covered his face with his hands and let out a muffled scream.</p><p> </p><p>“We are apparating!” Draco had declared the day before, leaving no room for argument. It was a testimony of how much time they had been spending together that Lupin didn’t even attempt trying. </p><p>The earliest flight they could find departed from Manchester airport, and took almost a full day with two stops in Amsterdam and San Francisco. Draco couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact he had to go backwards before going forward, but Lupin didn’t seem to find his detour to the Netherlands at all that strange. He was actually increasingly distracted and Draco knew he just wanted to get rid of him before the full moon.</p><p>The werewolf had spent the previous afternoon patrolling the area around the airport in search of the best spot for them to apparate to, so it was of no surprise to Draco when they landed in a deserted alley behind some old buses. He shook the other man’s grip off his forearm and glared “It smells of piss!”</p><p>Lupin righted his clothes and fished Draco’s belongings out of his pocket, unshrinking them in the process. The black luggage dropped to the ground with a thunk and Draco barely snatched his backpack from the air before it met the same fate. “As I said, piss!” He glared harder between the other wizard and the stained asphalt.</p><p>“Good thing we are not staying long, then.” Lupin dismissed him, looking around. “I have something for you.”</p><p>Draco looked at the pink notebook held out towards him in disbelief. Umbridge, his mind provided, he had been such a failure as part of the Inquisitorial Squad and now this was his punishment. He was about to ask if she had been using polyjuice all along when Possibly-Umbridge-In-Disguise sighed heavily and thrusted the journal further under his nose. </p><p>“It’s a two way diary, if you wish. Anything you need to tell me just write it down, and I will be able to see it and write back without having to use owls or something else as ostentatious and slow”. Not Umbridge then. Probably. </p><p>It was admittedly a good idea, and Draco found himself reaching out half-heartedly “And it’s pink for what reason, exactly?” He queried, wrinkling his nose. </p><p>“Because I don’t like you all that much, exactly.” Definitely-not-Umbridge replied, grinning in amusement for the first time since they had met again, almost a week before. His eyes danced with mirth, transforming his face completely into something younger and carefree. It was honestly disturbing, realising Lupin was a man in his mid-thirties when, most days,  he carried himself like he was at least a hundred. Draco feared what war did to youth. </p><p>He rolled his eyes, trying to shake the lingering sadness away “Very Mature. No way I’d be caught writing in this thing”.</p><p>“You are a wizard, you’ll figure it out” Lupin chuckled before sobering up so suddenly that Draco had to wonder if he was actually seeing things. “Open it, please. On the first page.”</p><p>Draco obliged and he found himself looking in bewilderment at a pair of tiny footprints wandering around the page, the name Narcissa Malfoy written in loopy cursive just below them. “What-“ his voice sounded scratchy, and he cleared the lump that had wedged itself into his throat before trying again “W-what is this?”</p><p>Lupin smiled sadly “It’s an adaptation of a charm that I haven’t used in many, many years. I had to tune it into your magical core, for the lack of better, as I didn’t really have a location exactly. . . Well, it’s complicated, but her magic is connected to yours by familiarity and it picked up her “signal”.” He made finger quotes in the air, looking awkward “All you need to know is that as long as your mother’s name is on that page she is we- alive.” He corrected, unwilling to make a promise he couldn’t keep.</p><p>Draco stared at the little footprints frantically pacing inside the boundaries of the paper until they blurred into nothing more than a blotch of ink. He was aware of the time slipping away, each second punctuated by the rhythm of his heart beating loudly in his ears, but he found himself unable to look away. Only when his mother’s name became illegible through the mist swelling in his eyes, he finally took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts and praying Salazard’s entire bloodline to stop him from crying. </p><p>He could not cry. Damn Lupin, he could. Not. Fucking. Lose it. </p><p>He swallowed twice against the lump in his throat and blinked, willing the tears back. He had never cried in front of anyone but his mother, and he certainly wasn’t going to break apart in a pissy alley with Potter’s fanclub Leader as his witness.<br/>
When he felt sufficiently in control and he was sure that nothing supid like a “thank you” was gonna escape his mouth, he snapped the journal shut and turned around.<br/>
Without checking if the other man was following, he started marching in what was hopefully the direction of the airport. </p><p>“I need to go.”</p><p>Lupin remained silent but Draco could hear the rhythmical tapping of footsteps just behind him. Tap.</p><p>Tap.</p><p>Tap.</p><p>Somehow, it was more comforting than any words could have been. </p><p> </p><p>The airport was huge and confusing. More people that Draco had ever seen together swarmed around each other in various degrees of haste, but almost all acting as if they were late to something. </p><p>It was impressive how most Muggle were able to unconsciously dodge crashing into one another or getting their feet flattened by a stray wheel, all the while looking every-fucking-where but in front of them. Draco had yet to master that particular skill, his toes still aching as a result of a couple of close encounters with heavy luggages and their apologetical owners. It had taken all his self control not to Avada the wankers. </p><p>Lupin had left a while earlier. Draco had not so subtly told him to stop treating him like a fucking child and the parting had been tense and awkward. Now that he was one “look where the fuck you are going” away from blowing his entire cover, though, he kind of missed having someone to keep him together. </p><p>He finally spotted the queue for the check-in, Lupin’s voice in his head repeating for the umpteenth time what he was supposed to do.<br/>
He fell into place in line behind a tired looking family, mindful to keep a safe distance away from exuberant feet. He was getting increasingly agitated and the two little imps chasing each other in the confined space in front of him didn’t help settling his nerves. </p><p>Part of him wanted to snap at the parents to keep their terrors in check, almost digging the confrontation as a potential distraction from his overworked mind. His lips curled but, before he could voice his complaints, he met the apologetic, almost pleading eyes of the mother. She looked exhausted but there was a glint of a challenge in her gaze. She would stand up for her children, if it came to that. Draco felt the pang of irritation fade, replaced by the sharper tug of homesickness. He gave her a curt nod and diverted his eyes to the floor.</p><p>He patted the front pocket of his jeans, tracing the firm contour of his passport a few times in assurance. Then, just to give his hands something to do, he fumbled with his backpack and searched for the bottle of felix felicis, letting go of a relieved breath when his fingers found glass. It was a stupid fear, thinking that someone could have taken it. To be extra safe Lupin had charmed it to look like a small tube of hand cream if any Muggle was to find it, but Draco couldn’t help the compulsion to check anyway. He flipped it over, to make sure once again that it was properly sealed.<br/>
Only when he caught up with the ridiculousness of standing in a place full of people while fussing over hand lotion of all things, he finally tucked the vial into one of the inside pockets and zipped the backpack closed, letting his eyes wander back up. </p><p>The youngest of the children, a toddler with hair almost as blond as his, dangled sleepily from her father’s shoulder, head bobbing up and down every time the man shifted to adjust the strap of his heavy looking duffle. A particularly brusque movement jolted her awake and Draco watched as she took in her surroundings, confusion replaced by curiosity when she met his eyes. </p><p>They stared at each other for a while. Draco was just about to raise an eyebrow at her persistence, when she unclenched her fingers and let go the ratty bunny she had been holding. She followed the fall and then looked back up, eyes boring into him with a silent invitation to interact.</p><p>Draco scoffed and was about to sidestep around the toy to follow the moving queue, when someone from behind tripped over him. Draco watched as a boy around his age stood back up holding the bunny and giving him a weird look. </p><p>“Sorry” the boy said “You didn’t notice but the little girl in front of you dropped this”. His heavily accented tone was friendly enough but Draco could hear the hint of suspicion. He shrugged, unwilling to feel guilty, and the Muggle rolled his eyes, turning to get the attention of the family.</p><p>Draco watched while the parents thanked him profusely as if he was the second coming of Merlin himself, but the git only shook his head with nonchalant modesty. That, for some reason, irritated him immensely. He took in the boy’s figure, lingering on the mop of unruly, chestnut hair. He had an open, pleasant face, but his hair was truly terrible. Draco huffed in contempt. </p><p>Fucking nice people.</p><p>He gestured for him to keep his place ahead in line, quickly shutting his expression off when it looked like the other boy wanted to engage in conversation. The Muggle seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times. Draco stared back, trying to convey as much hostility as possible, until it became uncomfortable and the boy turned around, eventually lost in the moving queue. </p><p> </p><p>Draco shuffled his way through security almost mechanically. </p><p>Empty pockets, take off rings, check for metal. </p><p>When his bag disappeared inside the small, beeping tunnel, his hands spasmed with the need to reach out and snatch it back. He tried to regain composure, glancing around to see if any of the burly men in uniforms around him had noticed his “escaped from Azkaban” act. The guy sitting at the desk simply looked bored, eyes fixed on the square metal box in front of him wistfully. The other two guards were engrossed in a nonsensical conversation about someone’s neighbour Bill and what sounded like a goat. Even when Draco hurried suspiciously fast under the security arch, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans and aware he must have appeared for all intents and purposes like someone with a secret, they barely spared him any attention. And yet, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that all eyes were pointed on him.</p><p>When he was finally reunited with his belongings he sat on the first available chair and opened his backpack, frantically checking that everything was still where it was supposed to be. Only when he had gone through every pocket twice, he noticed the boy from the queue was sitting next to him.</p><p>“First time flying?” The Muggle asked, conversationally.</p><p>“What is it to you?” Draco snapped back, irritated.</p><p>“You seem nervous”</p><p>“I am not scared!”</p><p>“I said nervous.” The boy shrugged, giving him a little smile. “I’ve been flying since I was very little,<br/>
with my parents being divorced and my mum moving back to France -“ He stopped, blushing sheepishly at Draco’s annoyed expression.<br/>
“Anyway, it’s really not that strange. Think about it this way, your chances to die in a car crash are way higher, and we use cars daily without much fuss.”</p><p>“I’ve never been in one.” Draco deadpanned. “Car, I mean.” He clarified, after a beat.</p><p>The other boy snorted skeptically “Sure.” His eyes flickered up towards the screen above them. “Oh, that’s my gate. I’d say it was a pleasure but not sure you would agree.” He added, standing up and adjusting his own bag over his shoulder. </p><p>He lingered for a moment, watching Draco curiously, his head tilted in consideration. “I don’t know where you are going, but I hope you’ll find happiness once you get there.” And with that, he gave a final wave and disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>Draco was left alone, whatever scathing retort dying on his lips, shaken by the parting words of a stranger that, with so little effort, wished him more than he had ever dared to wish for himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter HJP will make his appearance. Sorry for the long wait</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. New experiences (POV Draco)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was hoping to write Harry in this one but it was going to be too long, so I’m getting this out of the way first.</p><p>I hope you like it, it’s not my best work but life has been hectic with lockdown number 3.</p><p>As per usual, I love your comments🙃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It turned out that Muggle’s means of travelling were exhausting. </p><p>The first flight passed in a haze between tension and fascination, and it was over too soon. By the time the disembodied voice from above announced the approaching landing, Draco couldn’t remember having looked away once from the enthralling expanse of clouds lazily slipping away from underneath them. Even on his broom, he had never flown that high and everything seemed so calm and white up there. With his thoughts still captivated by this new perspective over the world, the sudden descend left him feeling somewhat cheated.</p><p>He briefly wondered how psychotic it would have sounded if he demanded for the blasted thing to be kept in the air until he had had the time to adjust. The mere thought drew a hysterical laugh out of him, causing his dry lips to split painfully at the corners. His mind shifted to the last time he had water, for breakfast that morning, and he was still pondering on how to cast an “Aguamenti” without being caught when the plane touched ground with a few harsh judders. His teeth crashed into his bottom lip, sinking into the chapped flesh and filling his mouth with the taste of copper.</p><p>Fucking Muggles.</p><p>A hand tapped gently on his knee. Draco knew he must have looked a fright when he turned to face the elderly lady sitting next to him, his eyes wild and his split lip sucked in between his teeth. </p><p>“Are you alright, darling?” She asked in a sweet foreign accent that had the “r’s” rolling off her tongue like a purr. </p><p>“Uh-“ he replied dully, still half licking the blood off his cut “Oh, yeah, fine!”. Were all Muggles this amiable or was it just his blasted luck, once again having him sitting next to someone that couldn’t mind their own business? Probably the latter, if he had to base it on how things were going lately. </p><p>Her eyes darted briefly to his hands that, he noticed with a great deal of embarrassment, were gripping the handles of his seat so tight they looked entirely void of colour. His fingers spasmed, releasing their clutch slowly as blood started to flow again into circulation. </p><p>“Just slightly dehydrated, really.” He mumbled under her skeptical scrutiny. </p><p>The woman gave him a motherly smile and reached into her purse, materialising an unopened bottle and a little round box. “I always buy too many.” She said, pushing the bottle into his hands and opening the metal container. It was filled with hard yellow sweets, coated in sugar powder, not unlike the one his mother seemed to favour. </p><p>He wanted to refuse but his treacherous hand had already reached halfway to the box. The lady nudged it closer with an encouraging nod. </p><p>“Take two for good luck” She told him with a cheeky grin and Draco felt himself flush, obeying nonetheless. </p><p>He plopped one of the sweets into his mouth with a thank you, quickly turning back to the window to avoid further interaction.<br/>
The airport was busy and his eyes got caught up again in the stange, effortless way in which airplanes around him seemed to take off in the sky as if they weighed nothing. It was magic, Draco thought with wonder. </p><p>The water, mixed with the sour taste of lemon, washed away any lingering blood from his mouth. He sat, staring contently outside until the cabin was almost empty and he was forced to follow the swarm of bodies inside the airport. </p><p> </p><p>The second flight was much longer. He tried fitting his 6 feet frame in the smallest space possible away from the considerable size and sweaty stench of his travelling companion. It only took an hour of uncomfortable shuffling in his seat for Draco to give up. He rummaged in his backpack until he found Potter’s Tshirt, an hasty last minute addition that he had packed that morning without really consciously meaning to do so. The cotton was soft and he rolled it into a ball before wedging it between his seat and the window. Then, careful to shield his movements behind his hands, he uncorked one of the vials of Dreamless Sleep Lupin had provided.<br/>
Knowing that he would later regret sleeping during the day, he swallowed the entire vial anyway, grimacing at the medicinal aftertaste of the lavender. He was asleep, face smushed against worn cotton, in an instant.</p><p>When he woke again they were descending towards San Francisco and he had missed both calls for food. </p><p>From there to his final destination was a rather quick trip in comparison. The smooching couple next to him was too busy staring into each other’s eyes to pay him any mind, which served Draco just fine.</p><p>By the time he had collected the rest of his belongings from the moving line that appeared to be spitting luggage after luggage from a hole in the wall, his stomach was rumbling painfully for attention. Surprised that his bag had made it safely through two stops and what was no doubt the longest journey of his life, he followed the signs towards the exit.<br/>
He checked his options and, feeling out of depth, he decided to approach the closest establishment advertising food. He fumbled awkwardly with the Muggle currency that Lupin had exchanged for him. He had decided that the imminent bus ride, combined with three flights, was enough of daily first experiences for him to dare trying the plastic card his Professor said was somehow connected to his bank. </p><p>The hotdog looked both disgusting and the best thing he had ever held, and when the vendor had impatiently asked if he wanted ketchup Draco had agreed without thinking. </p><p>Ketchup, aside from sticking to his fingers and at the corner of his mouth, turned out to be most definitely the food of the Gods. Draco ordered a large serving of fries drenched in it, before thinking that maybe Muggles life wouldn’t be so bad after all. </p><p>The experience was short-lived when he had to ask a couple of Muggles for directions to the bus station, which left him feeling both helpless and irritated. Trying to block any thought he wasn’t ready to deal with, he concentrated on the pleasant humming of his full stomach and the fact that, for the first time in a long while, he was at least physically well. </p><p>By the grace of Merlin he actually found a secluded seat on the bus and promptly dropped his backpack on the spot beside him, hoping that the Muggles would take the hint.<br/>
The steady pace of the bus was almost as calming as flying above the clouds, and Draco rested his forehead on the cooling glass, following the dance of city lights against the darkening sky. </p><p>After he was sure that nobody would take the seat next to his, he picked up his backpack, hugging it against his chest protectively like he would have done so many years before with his stuffed toy dragon, Prince. His knees came to rest just below his chin, sneaker clad feet perching at the edge of his seat.<br/>
Imagining it was his mother’s arms around him instead, Draco felt impossibly young. His fingers toyed with the zippers of the bag until they clutched the journal, caressing blindly the rough paper. His magic could sense the incantation binding Narcissa’s name to the pages, and he allowed the sensation to pervade his mind. The buzz of the charm sounded similar to a lullaby, and it was grounding and familiar. He wrapped himself in it like a blanket and emptied his mind.</p><p>He let go of his responsibilities and burdens. Of his worries and the soul crushing task of being the messenger of Death. For a brief, too brief moment, in a Muggle bus, Draco let go of magic, imagining he was just an ordinary boy going to discover the world. </p><p>The sun was setting over San Diego in promising hues of pink and orange, leaving the landscape bathed in a soft light that took Draco’s breath away. </p><p>“The world is huge.” He thought in wonder. </p><p>His eyes widen with the implications. Hands against the glass like a child, Draco began to fall in love with things he had never allowed himself to notice before.</p><p> </p><p>After reaching the city centre Draco had to half-heartedly call a cab to his accomodation.<br/>
Lupin, the paranoid bastard, hadn’t wanted to involve magic. Consequently, on top of everything else, the fucking man had spent a fair amount of the last three days holed up in one of Cardiff’s public libraries. He had declared that, based on the little fragments of information he had collected during his two-way mirrors voyeurism sessions, he could use one of those metal knowledge boxes of theirs to help him pinpoint the whereabouts of Potter. Draco hoped with all his might that the town north of San Diego he was headed to did in fact include one Harry Poncy-middle-name Potter in its population count. </p><p>The journey wasn’t long and the driver blessedly quiet. It was too dark outside to really make out much of the passing landscape, so Draco relaxed against the leather seats. Given time, he could learn to enjoy travelling by car, he thought. It was almost peaceful. </p><p>As soon as the cab left him at his destination, though, his good mood plummeted. In front of him was a shabby two storey building that didn’t even seem to warrant a name but for a broken red light languidly flashing “MTEL”.</p><p>Lupin was a motherfucker, and a sadistic one at that. </p><p>The walls of the “MTEL” were a sandy brown, paint flaking in more places than not and rude words scribbled everywhere. Two dead potted plants were carelessly positioned at either side of the entrance, like a mocking welcome sign to hell. Hoping that the place wasn’t representative of the local fashion, Draco dragged his luggage behind him and entered the building.</p><p>“Hello?” he demanded, when the greasy man behind the counter didn’t do as much as lifting his eyes from the screen in front of him.</p><p>“Yes?” The Muggle asked, unbothered, rubbing some lingering oil from his lips with the back of his hand. </p><p>Draco shuddered. “I have a reservation” he replied, pushing a printed sheet towards the man, careful not to make contact with any surface. </p><p>The receptionist licked his fingers, before snatching the paper and running his eyes over it.</p><p>“Oh, yes. Room 78, already paid for two nights. Here are the keys.” He said, swaying said item from his index finger. </p><p>Draco held a breath and reached out. He plucked the keyring, holding it as far away from his body as he could. He made sure not to touch the little wooden ball dangling from it, the room number painted on it almost invisible under layers of dirt. It looked extremely sticky and Draco had no intention to find out if it felt just as much. </p><p>“Do I need to show you a document?” He stalled, uncertain. Muggles seemed to like checking for identification.</p><p>The other man’s attention had once more drifted towards the screen. “Nah, don’t care.” The dismissal was clear. “You can access your room from the outside. Make sure to lock it, we are not responsible if something goes missing. Room 78 is between 77 and 79.” He added, snorting at his own dumb joke.”</p><p>He made a shoo-ing gesture towards the exit and Draco was only too happy to leave. </p><p> </p><p>The room was small and stuffy. The summer heat lingered stagnant in between the four walls, giving the air a murky smell. Draco casted all the cleaning spells he knew and opened the window, unconcerned of any of the dangers the receptionist might have been hinting at. Although he was aware of the complication of using magic against Muggles, he knew that entering the country via plane granted that his wand wasn’t traced. If the worst came to the worst, a few stinging hexes and memory charms could only aid to work out his pent up frustration.  </p><p>He changed out of his sweaty clothes and took a short and uncomfortable shower, trying to keep his naked skin away from touching the tiles. It was a rather difficult task, seeing how the entire fucking cubicle was only about 3 feet wide. </p><p>After quickly brushing his teeth and toweling his hair dry with Potter’s t-shirt, he transfigured the old stained pillows into fluffy feathers ones and dropped gracelessly into the bed.<br/>
Having slept 10 hours on the plane he wasn’t tired in the slightest. He blinked up at the ceiling, grimacing at the spots of mold tattering the white paint. </p><p>In a fit of anger he took out the journal and scribbled “I HATE YOU” across the first available space. He looked as the dot carrying his mother’s name rushed to the border of its own page. It almost felt like she was judging his childishness in disapproval.</p><p>Draco smothered his face in one of the pillows and groaned.</p><p>It was gonna be a fucking long night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Employee of the month</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry guys this took so long but it has been a wild start of the year. I hope it’s okay, I haven’t had much time to re-read it so finger crossed it’s not just a bunch of nonsense 😣</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was around 5am when the journal suddenly warmed, glowing faintly in the receding darkness of room 78.</p><p>“Subtle.” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes to the vacant surroundings. The pink cover glimmered back in response. </p><p>Was it possible for an inanimate object to look mocking? After hours spent staring blankly at the musty wall, Draco thought the answer was rather yes. </p><p>If he were to be completely honest, he wouldn’t probably have noticed hadn’t the diary already been resting across his bare stomach.<br/>
The last few hours into the early morning had passed alternating between counting the mould stains dotting the ceiling and flipping idly through the journal’s blank pages, almost but never allowing himself to stop at the first page. He missed his mother dearly and, part of Draco, felt like he had already spent his time mourning her loss without having a proper closure.</p><p>He shook the feeling off, chastising himself. His mother was alive, and he’d better stop that train of thought before it led to further misery. The Draco that relished wallowing in self pity was gone, and what was left behind didn’t have the time to worry about matters he had no control over.</p><p>He sighed heavily, unwilling to let his old dramatic self die completely, and opened the journal. Lupin’s handwriting was surprisingly neat and pleasant. The message was barely two sentences long.</p><p>“Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable, now”. Draco huffed, reading the words in his head in the dry timbre he had come to associate with the other wizard.</p><p>What a wanker.</p><p>The next line held a completely different tone. “How are you feeling?” Lupin asked, simply. </p><p>Draco shut the diary, finding that he wasn’t ready to answer that just yet. He had mixed emotions about the other man’s unexpected bouts of compassion, but it wouldn’t do him any good to dwell on why a rather simple question about his well being had reignited the now familiar ache of loneliness. </p><p>No time like the present, he told himself, trying to sound confident for his own benefit. </p><p>The dawn light was starting to filter through the moth-eaten curtains and Draco almost bemoaned the fact that no Muggle had attempted to rob him during the night. He knew that hours of inaction hadn’t helped with his current state of mind, and he found that he was actually ready to face the day. </p><p>He summoned a pair of black jeans and a white shirt from his bag, buttoning it high against his neck. It was a bit of an overkill but no Malfoy had ever faced the enemy in a t-shirt. He tittered at the thought of an amnesiac, semi-muggle Potter as the enemy. There was something exciting about the idea of approaching the other boy as a stranger, and Draco felt a little thrill at the possibilities. Part of him believed he and Potter were never meant to get along, their incompatibilities too deep to overcome, but he rather missed the time when the biggest of his worries was how to provoke the bespectacled idiot into losing his temper. Everything was easier, then, and Draco wanted that feeling back, even if it meant them being at each other’s throats at any given opportunity. The dimwitted Saviour did look entertaining in anger red and, regardless of the outcome, it wasn’t any day that one could have a second chance at meeting their childhood nemesis afresh. Maybe, this time around, he could even persuade Potter to shake his hand. </p><p>His shoulder relaxed and he felt himself easing into a semblance of what could almost be called a good mood.</p><p>Slipping into his new trainers, Draco appreciated how the canvas was steadily breaking in to become the most comfortable pair he owned. He went through his bathroom routine quickly, poking at the dark skin under his eyes with a sort of detached acceptance. His hair was getting long. A poor attempt at fixing it a month prior had left the sides shorter and kind of choppy and the fringe brushing just below his eyebrow. It had now reached the eyelids, tickling annoyingly every time he shifted. Draco thought it fitted his new brooding aesthetic to a tee, leaving the pristine and polished image of the rich brat behind. He wasn’t that person any longer, and the realisation wasn’t as bitter as he had expected. </p><p>With a half smile gracing his lips, Draco prepared to leave. It was only when he reached into his backpack for the felix felicis, that he felt his nerves unexpectedly tense.</p><p>Not so long ago, sleep deprived and desperate enough to be considering the daunting promise of deathlike slumber bubbling away in his cauldron, Slughorn’s challenge had ringed in his ears with the suave voice of hope.<br/>
Ignoring the insane urge to reach into the sleeping draught in front of him and lick it off his fingers, well aware it was on the poisonous shade of wrong, Draco had hopelessly tried to mend his mistakes, willing the potion to turn lilac or, at least, not red. </p><p>On the day, he would have given his wand hand for the chance of claiming that particular prize. For the chance of letting pure luck lifting the heavy consequences of failure from his withering shoulders, if just for a while. Not the way Draco would have had preferred wasting the opportunity, but he had long lost the privilege of being picky. </p><p>Of course, despite his proficiency in potion, anxiety had gotten the best of him. To add insult to injury, he had lost to an almost equally desperate Granger, whose draught had been a sad purple and far from perfect. Draco had been grateful his father was in prison for that. </p><p>That day, not so long ago, he would have begged the mudblood for a sip. </p><p>Now, in a shabby motel room, twirling 24 hours worth of golden luck in between his fingers, he was suddenly anxious.<br/>
His chance had finally come, and the circumstances couldn’t be more different. The irony of using what he had once hoped would help him pleasing the Dark Lord to instead find the only boy actually able to destroy him, was almost poetic. What stayed the same was his once in a lifetime opportunity of a perfect day wasted on someone else’s fight. </p><p>And people called him selfish! </p><p>He uncorked the vial and let about one third of the potion fall onto his tongue, surprised at finding it completely tasteless. For whatever reason he had expected sweetness. As soon as the liquid had reached the back of his throat he felt pervaded by a strong sense of purpose and the compelling need to go for a walk. </p><p>The sun was now shining fully over the horizon and he had just a fleeting moment of regret for his outfit choices before a cool breeze tickled his skin, bringing the smell of the ocean. He would head in that direction. </p><p> </p><p>His feet dragged him aimlessly through the waking city, one step after the other without a proper direction, but nonetheless the right one. His thoughts just the same, intertwining in a flutter of broken paths, never focusing on anything in particular. For the first time in over a year his head felt light, clear. </p><p>There weren’t many people on the roads, and none paid him any attention. It wasn’t like Draco expected Potter to bump into him in the middle of Chestnut Avenue, so he just kept walking until his shirt was plastered against his warming skin and he was suddenly very thirsty. </p><p>His initial plan had been to reach the sea and he stood, conflicted, looking at a tall sign stating he was just half a mile away from his destination. But the sea could wait, a little voice said from inside his head. It sounded extremely reasonable, his throat was dry and it was getting extremely hot. He looked around for a small shop or anywhere he could buy some water and it was then that he noticed it. </p><p>Not that it was hard to, his distracted wandering the only thing that had allowed him to overlook the quirky cafe before. It stood at the corner of an intersection, dwarfed by the sleek and modern buildings surrounding it. It was oddly familiar, like it could have belonged among the outdated architecture of Diagon Alley, with its wooden frame painted sage green and two handfuls of bright windsor style chairs dotting the pavement in front of the entrance. The mustard sign above his head read “The Mad Hatter” and each one of the little tables outside held a dainty teapot bursting with flowers as a centerpiece. </p><p>Draco, before, would have never given it the time of day. As it was, Draco now barely spared the chalkboard that inanely proclaimed “Come to the Math side, we have Pi” a glance and pushed the door open with a thrilling sense of anticipation. </p><p>The bell above the door jingled.</p><p>The interior was, if possible, even madder. A huge clock with the hands seemingly stuck on “Tea” hung from the central column and a mismatched assortment of armchairs and stools, with the most outrageous upholstery, filled a room that was otherwise larger than expected. Draco thought that neither Trewlaney nor Dumbledore would have looked out of place in there and his chest tightened uncomfortably.  </p><p>He quickly scanned the room, his eyes automatically searching for a familiar mop of black hair, but the voice that piped up from somewhere at the back was definitely feminine. “Scott? Is that you? Gimme a minute, kid, just leave the - Oh.” </p><p>A woman around his mother’s age had emerged from behind a set of double doors, probably leading into the kitchen, and had now stopped midway, regarding him with curiosity.</p><p> “I’d say not Scott, but you already know that. Unless that happens to be your name, too.”</p><p>“Uh? Ah, no, definitely not Scott”. Draco confirmed awkwardly. </p><p>She shifted her weight, leaning her shoulder against the door to keep it open and re-adjusting the enormous pile of green menus balanced in her arms, before giving him a welcoming smile. </p><p>“Technically we are not open until 7.” She told him, glancing at the huge clock with no numbers as if it would confirm that it wasn’t 7 yet. Draco had no idea of the time, but his stomach rumbled quietly and she chuckled. “Nevermind, what can I getcha? I was just whipping the first batch of pancakes batter back there, or you can wait for Scott with the deliveries. Still warm from the oven, I’d bet.”</p><p>Draco was starting to feel overwhelmed and a bit confused. He hadn’t expected the felix felicis to immediately drop Potter into his lap but, with an hour gone and no signs of the other boy, he couldn’t help thinking he was wasting his time. As soon as he thought that, the potion in his blood hummed and he was once again pervaded by a calming sense of reassurance. He was thirsty, after all, and the cool temperature in the little cafe was a pleasant break from the heath outside. </p><p>“Water. Yeah, water would do.” He replied, wishing his stomach to stop growling so that he could get going.</p><p>She eyed him skeptically, dropping the menus on the nearest table. “Nonsense. I’m a man down but, seeing as we are not open yet, I think I can manage a full breakfast on my own. Mornings are never busy anyway, not this early at least. Orange juice or Coffee? You’d think tea, but in this heat. . .” Without waiting for a reply she pushed him towards one of the armchairs “Now, sit down, will ya? Allergies?” </p><p>Draco managed a weak “No.”, before she was gone. </p><p>She came back about ten minutes later, carrying a tray and a jug of water. He watched avidly as she lowered a plate stacked with pancakes and strawberries in front of him, the delicious smell of warm food filling his nostrils. </p><p>“You look a bit young for coffee.” She commented, before placing a tall mug next to the plate anyway. It was followed by a glass of orange juice and a little bowl of fruit salad. </p><p>Draco thanked her politely, expecting her to go. He was starving and the food looked the most tempting he had had in ages. Despite his expectations, the woman stayed, hovering by the table and observing him with blatant curiosity. </p><p>He stared back. </p><p>She must have been pushing fifty, he guessed, but her skin was smooth and tanned, taking years away from her appearance. Her outfit echoed the colours of the shop entrance, deep green summer dress, ending in a turquoise bow around her collarbone, and a lightweight mustard cardigan. Two top-hat shaped pendants sparkled at her ears. Again, Draco was brought back to Hogwarts and left wondering if this was what Potter’s loony friend Lovegood would look like in 30 or so years. Maybe it was this aching familiarity with the world he left behind, so different from the concrete and plain angles of the Muggle one, that had pushed him to enter the little shop in the first place, and nothing to do with Potter at all. </p><p>He was homesick. </p><p>Out of depth and time in between the tees and shorts clad youths of the Californian coast. Maybe the potion had wanted to give him just that, a private corner of “different” where he could feel the most like himself, as much as he himself would never have dared to associate with such an establishment before. As it was, he felt quite at ease in the presence of the stranger in front of him and her odd taste in furnishing. </p><p>“British, uh?” She observed breezily. “What brings you - oh, do go on!”.</p><p>Draco startled, eyes jumping back to attention from where they had once again strayed towards the food. He flushed and she smiled knowingly.</p><p>“Just eat, kiddo. I see people eating all day! . . . Honestly.” She prompted, when it looked like he was still hesitant to pick up his fork. Draco half expected her to start scolding him for how thin he was and decided he was actually too hungry to care about any lingering awkwardness. </p><p>The pancakes tasted divine and he found that, when she asked again what had brought him into town, the answer coming out of his mouth was at least partially honest “I’ve arrived yesterday, but uh - yeah, not on holi- vacation. Truthfully, life at- back there was getting out of hand and I. . .” He trailed off, feeling extremely inarticulate. How very Potter-esque of him, to forget the basic rules of speech, but his life was such a mess and there was just so much he could not explain to a Muggle. </p><p>“Needed a fresh start?” The woman filled in the blanks for him, and he nodded.</p><p>“Yes. And I was hoping to stay. . . A while.” He shrugged, unable to elucidate further.</p><p>“Mhmm, I’ve heard this story before.” She said criptically. “Well then -“</p><p>“Dean.” Draco said.</p><p>“Dean. I’m Ellen. I’ll leave you to your breakfast. And don’t be a stranger, you’ll always be welcome here in Wonderland.” She winked at him and disappeared back behind the kitchen’s doors, leaving Draco with the feeling he had somehow missed a reference in there. </p><p>He quietly finished his breakfast and dabbed the lingering syrup from his lips with a tissue. He decided he would make a quick trip to the toilet to cast a “tempus” and freshen up before paying and get moving. The effect of the felix felicis would last him around 8 hours, but he was starting to doubt the potion believed he truly wanted to find Potter and was instead catering to his subconscious  
need for normalcy. </p><p>The charm told him it was just a handful of minutes to seven and he had lost over an hour of his lucky day wandering around and eating. Time to go. On his way to the counter he tried fishing his wallet out of his too-tight jeans pocket, hopping a little like an idiot. He was so focused on his task that he missed the column in front of him and crashed into it with a huff. </p><p>Thank Merlin the cafe was empty. He looked up and noticed that that side of the column, the one he couldn’t see from the entrance, was covered in pictures, interlacing on top of one another to create a huge canvas of smiling faces. One picture, possibly the one that had collided with his shoulder, was crooked and hanging halfway off the wall. He reached to readjust it and. Oh.</p><p>He knew that mouth. </p><p>The picture portrayed a boy that was most definitely Potter, standing under a banner proclaiming “Employee Of The Month”. A paper crown adorned with big, red hearts was pushed down over his hair and covered most of his eyes, balancing on the tip of his nose. </p><p>Draco peeled it the rest of the way off the wall. Even with half of his face hidden, he could recognise the other boy clearly. Potter’s mouth was pulled into an embarrassed grin, his cheeks flushed pink and, although the picture was cut at bust level, from the hunch of his shoulder he was obviously standing with his hands in his pockets. </p><p>Potter never did well in front of a camera, and Draco almost smiled before realising that this assessment was not in line with what he had always believed about the other boy. It didn’t ring any less true. He frowned. Despite Potter being a huge attention seeker, Draco had noticed more than once before how the other wizard often looked flustered and uncomfortable under the spotlight. </p><p>He observed the photo again, a bit unsettled in its stillness. Half of him expected picture-Potter to lift the paper crown any moment and reveal his green eyes. Maybe do something completely insane, like wink at him. He was about to stick it back and search if he could find the other boy’s face in any of the other images when a voice from behind made him jump.</p><p>“That’s Evan. Kid’s like a son to me.” Ellen revealed fondly. “Poor thing was so embarrassed that day. He is English as well. Too bad he is not in today, gave him two weeks off. Forced him to take ‘em, more like it. He gets those terrible headaches. . .” She broke off, realising she was possibly saying too much. 

So Potter worked at the cafe. Draco briefly wondered if it had been the same sense of familiarity he was feeling that had first attracted Potter to this place, as well. 

 “Anyway, if you come back next week I’ll introduce you two.”</p><p>He was trying to contain the enthusiasm of the yes, please! threatening to spill from his lips when she suddenly looked at something behind him.</p><p>The bell jingled again.</p><p>“Speaking of which. . .”</p><p>Draco spun around quickly but the boy that had entered the shop, half buried under a stack of crates, was not Potter. </p><p>“Talk of the devil!” She said again and Draco stared uncomprehendingly, a growing suspicion he had gotten it all wrong. The boy lowered the crates on the counter, but even before seeing his face Draco had known those tight brown ringlets did not belong to the one he was looking for. </p><p>“Uh?” the newcomer asked with a confused frown.</p><p>“Scott!” Ellen said, and Draco exhaled. “We were just discussing your bedmate.” She teased with a wink. </p><p>Draco raised an eyebrow at the odd choice of words, but they at least explained the connection between the guy and Potter. The two must be living together. </p><p>The boy, Scott, rolled his eyes “My - Whatever. What about him?”</p><p>She suddenly turned serious “How is he?”</p><p>“Allright, you know how he gets when he is inactive for too long. He was ready to bounce off the walls. I come from there actually, that’s why I’m a little late. Brought him breakfast, he was up at 5:30 if you believe it.” He told her, lifting tray after tray full of pastries from inside the crates. </p><p>Draco’s mouth watered, despite his stomach’s protest that he should be taking it easy. </p><p>“Boy never sleeps, I swear. Isn’t the new guy for Gwen’s room coming today? How is it handling it?”</p><p>“Just about as well as a mourning widower. You’d think she is going to war and not just enrolling in the summer program and moving a few hours away.”</p><p>The woman laughed and Draco was starting to lose the thread of the conversation, growing more nervous by the minute. Every little revelation about Potter’s new life made it obvious how he himself was no longer part of it. The boy that had been such a constant during the most part of his formative years was now a stranger for him too. The realisation made Draco feel surprisingly lonely. </p><p>“Give him some credit, it was a last minute decision. Finding a new roommate for just the summer is always stressful.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. The guy actually cancelled ‘bout an hour ago, just like that. Said he had some family issues, or something. Evan was blabbering about covering the rent himself, that it’d certainly give him less grief.” Scott said, clearly not agreeing with that determinate plan of action.</p><p>Draco was wondering if he could just leave some money on the counter and quietly slip away to plot his next move, when he felt Ellen’s gaze directed at him. The Muggle looked pensive for a moment before asking “Have you got a place to stay, boy?”</p><p>“I have two nights paid in a Motel.” He replied awkwardly, not sure of where this was going.</p><p>“Mhmm.” She hummed, her focus shifting back to Scott “This is Dean, by the way. Scott, Dean. Dean, Scott.” </p><p>The boys exchanged a quick handshake. Scott’s grasp was strong and he offered a genuine “Nice to meet ya.”, to which Draco responded with a curt nod. </p><p>“Would you be interested in renting a room for a couple of months? No obligations if you’d rather travel the country.” She queried, eyes back on him with the same contemplative twinkle. </p><p>Was she suggesting. . ? The opportunity of being in close quarters with Potter during the month he needed for the other boy to turn of age was just too good to miss. It would give him the time to build his trust so that the blow of the eventual lash out, once the Gryffindor had regained all his memories and temper, could be significantly lessen. Hopefully this way Potter would give him the time to explain, before hexing him. </p><p>“Uhm, no, I was thinking to stop here for a while.” He stammered, trying not to sound too eager. “I mean, yes, I would be. I am. Definitely.” He nodded, feeling his cheeks warm at his poor attempt to keep it together. </p><p>She smiled, amused. “Good, good. Dean, here, has just arrived in the country. From England, of all places. Fresh start and all that, sound familiar? I think he could be the perfect candidate.” She addressed Scott expectantly.</p><p>Scott blinked a couple of times before his eyes cleared in understanding. “Oh, right. Yeah, sounds cool. Lemme give my uncle a quick call to say I’m done with deliveries and will get back a bit late and then I could drop you off at the apartment, if that works for you? So you get to meet Evan and see if you guys are on the same page.” </p><p>Draco nodded, trying to contain his nerves. He barely registered as the other boy moved a little further to have a private conversation into one of those cello-phones things. In just a little while he would see Potter again.</p><p>When Scott came back at his side and asked with a smile “Ready?”, Draco wasn’t sure he was ready at all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>God, I’ve just re-read this and it was pretty terrible. I wanted to include the meeting in this chapter but then it would have been too long. </p><p>I am so sorry this is not really up to standard at the moment but I have so little time for writing. The story is all there in my head tho so I am not giving it up, maybe one day I will fix the chapters that I’m not satisfied with🙂</p><p>Thank you for reading all the same, let me know what you think if you feel like it.</p>
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